


Run Like The River (Whumptober2020)

by stormcause



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Team Crafted
Genre: Begging, Blindness, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Broken Bones, Brotherly Angst, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire, Gen, Honestly just pain, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I apologise, I enjoyed writing this too much, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Panic Attacks, Poisoning, Restraints, Scars, Sensory Deprivation, Threats of Violence, Torture, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 64,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormcause/pseuds/stormcause
Summary: Done for fun, following the Whumptober2020 prompts from Tumblr but man, I did *not* manage to do this in a month XD. Using various characters from the Minecraft Youtuber fandom, enjoy!This book is also on Wattpad under the same name and by the same author, 'stormcause'!
Comments: 84
Kudos: 92





	1. So here we are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You enter this void, ready to enter a world of words but are stopped at the entrance by a voice. A voice that warns you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the first book I'm publishing on AO3! I'm also posting this on Wattpad as stormcause, so you can go check it out there and also have a browse of my other books! Enjoy!

The room is dark, or perhaps it just doesn’t have a form yet. You are standing in the centre, with a rim of source-less light around you that bounces off your face and hands but does nothing to illuminate the room past that. Even when you stretch out your hand, the light only touches your skin and nothing else. You don’t want to move further into this room yet; who knows what this room contains? What if it’s something dangerous, something that could-

“Don’t worry,” a feminine voice says. “This room holds nothing save for you and I. What’s dangerous lies beyond.”

You spin around, having heard the voice from behind you but even though you squint into the void, you see nothing. It’s... unsettling, to say the least.

“Don’t worry,” the voice repeats. “I’m not here to harm you. I came here to warn you.”

A curious thing, to need warning. And why in this place, with this nothing-ness room with this strange light that only illuminated you? A little suspicious, no doubt. 

“I felt this was the best way,” the voice says. Had it heard your thoughts or simply guessed? “The best way to introduce what you might see beyond here.”

The voice takes a deep breath, something similar to a sigh, and you hear it moving around as the owner walks, though the footsteps are inaudible. “What you see beyond will be… graphic, to a point. It’s 'Graphic Depictions' for a reason. This only contains pain, blood, screaming and crying, torture both in a physical sense and in a mental one, with little plot and even less justification or purpose for the actions. They occur for the sake of occurring. I say these things because I know that not everyone comes to the topic with the same level of tolerance.”

“This is your warning. I will not hold back. I will be graphic at times, though most are likely to be fine, and I will no doubt make you uncomfortable at one point or another. Nothing will be ‘adult-themed’ if you understand what I mean but everything comes at a price. I have followed a designated list of prompts, and the titles for what you will read are taken from it as well as the prompt listed in each chapter. That prompt will double as a trigger warning, and that is the only warning I will give for what you will read.”

“I am telling you to continue at your own risk. If you are uncomfortable, then please step back and take a break from reading, I won’t hold you to account. Otherwise…”

The light suddenly shifts and you turn again. A door has appeared in this nothing-ness room; wooden, with iron bolts, and a simple turn ring. A prison door. The voice comes from the darkness beside it as it speaks for the final time.

“Otherwise, continue. Let the prompts begin.”


	2. Let's hang out sometime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Waking Up Restrained  
> Character: SkyDoesMinecraft
> 
> General Adam isn't entirely sure what happened, but being tied up to a chair is never a good sign.

Adam’s head was pounding and a groan escaped him as his eyes flickered open only to instantly shut again to block out the splitting light that burned his brain. He raised his hand to hold his head as he let out another groan, but found he couldn’t; something was holding his hand behind his back. He was… sitting? On a chair or something, probably, with something rough and cylindrical around both of his wrists, the coarse feeling irritating his skin. He hung his head, still keeping his eyes shut and focused on breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Or was it in through his mouth and out through his nose? He could never remember, and he especially couldn’t with this awful headache. Was it sourced from a particular spot? He couldn’t tell.

A number of minutes passed, each marked by the steady, regular breathing of Adam until he felt that his headache had subsided enough for him to try and open his eyes. He did it gradually, letting them adjust to the light levels until he felt he was able to blink without having his eyeballs melted. And when he could finally see, he craned his head around the room, working out the stiffness in his neck at the same time.

The room was square and bare, and nothing else. Bright lights were flush with the ceiling, a solid white door of some sort of metal was inlaid to the wall, and that was it. The only things in this room were Adam and the chair he sat in, which, when he had twisted his body as much as he was physically able to, had ropes around both front legs that lashed onto his own legs, and his chest was tied to the backrest and his arms pulled behind it and tied with more of that coarse rope.

The feeling of the rope irritated his hands but he tried to ignore it as best as he could by letting out a slow breath and thinking back to the last thing that had happened. He was pretty sure he had been riding his horse, though why he was on his own, he wasn’t sure… No, wait, that’s right! He had been filling up their water canteens at the river they had camped by! Jerome and Ty hadn’t liked the idea of him going alone but he’d brought his horse and it would only take him a few minutes. He had been riding, and he had reached the river, and he was pretty sure that he had been filling up the canteens, and then… and then what?

His headache surged and Adam hissed, momentarily recognising that the pain originated from the right side of his head. As he noticed it, he recalled a brief surge of sudden pain from the side of his skull as something hard had hit him, but he didn’t remember anything else. How long ago had that been? A few hours at least, hopefully, enough for his friends to realise that he was missing. Unless they had been attacked too. He hoped not.

There was no sound to warn him but the door opened and at the sound of muted footsteps, Adam raised his head, his expression curious and then twisted into something verging on annoyance as he saw the three figures who had entered.

“Yeah, I assumed it was going to be you, what with being attacked at a river and all.” His voice was unusually loud in the room.

“You shouldn’t have been alone then, General Adam,” the squid hybrid answered, the crown on his head gleaming in the bright lights. “But then again, if it weren’t so obvious that you were keeping secrets, perhaps your friends would be more willing to stay by your side.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The hybrid king tilted his head, his face devoid of a smile. “You think we wouldn’t find out? We, who have been tracking your every move and hunting down your every connection to try and undermine you-”

“And everyone knows that, no one’s going to believe anything you dig up,” Adam snarled, his bonds straining as he leaned forward to add venom to his words. 

“Not if we have proof,” the hybrid said quietly. “And, assuming what we’ve found is correct…”

One of the other squid hybrids stepped forward, drawing a dagger from his waist and Adam’s heart began to race as the dagger was raised, but his pulse increase ten-fold as the dagger was put to his left arm and his sleeve was slashed, the cloth ripped away from his skin, revealing what Adam had always been careful to keep hidden.

“Then we have all the proof we need,” the king finished, his eyes locked on the swirling tattoo that circled Adam’s upper left arm, the ink impression slightly faded but the impression of a twisting dragon was still clear. The hybrid with the dagger raised the blade and held it to Adam’s neck, the edge of it pushing into the skin but the prisoner kept his eyes fixed on the king who met his gaze steadily, and then spoke.

“So tell me, General Adam; what do you know about the Brine Warriors?”

Adam snarled, showing off his teeth (had they grown sharper in the past few seconds?) “You’ll have to rip the information from my cold, dead body.”

The king smiled finally; a wide, happy smile as his eyes lit up with excitement. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoot, RIP General Adam. We might catch up on what happens next later on in the book :3  
> I'm hoping to give this daily updates for the next month, with any luck at all so I'll see you guys tomorrow with another prompt!
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated! Please, I like knowing how people respond to what I write ;^;


	3. In the hands of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Pick who dies"  
> Characters: The Dream Team
> 
> A speedrunner gets captured with his two friends, but there's only two cells available for them. One has to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *subtly adds Major Character Death warning to the book*   
> As you were, ignore me.

Dream’s knees hit the ground and barely a second later, George and Sapnap’s did the same, held down by the hands latched onto them. Their pants for breath mingled with Dream’s own laboured breathing, his lungs burning with ash. His mask was cracked and splintered, some parts lost so that one side of his lower face and his eye were uncovered, a cut bleeding as a memorial to the stroke that had cut his mask. The top part still held strong, hiding the other side of his face for now, though he tried not to think about them taking his mask away. It was virtually part of him now. He didn’t even take it off to sleep anymore, just shifted it to the side.

Dream’s head was lowered but his eyes flicked up as a pair of feet entered his vision and stopped before them. They were booted, the toes and ankles shining a newly-polished leather, though the soles were dusty and dirtied with the grass of the field they had been fighting and now defeated on. The buckles were polished steel, eye-catching, and they lead to deep black jeans that looked to be made of a flexible material, but Dream didn’t look any higher than the unpatched knees. 

He waited, refusing to be the first to speak but it appeared that the boot-wearer didn’t want to hear any voice save for his own. “So. You’re the speedrunner.” There was a pause and Dream could easily imagine the curled lip. “And the two ‘friends’.”

From the side of his eye, Dream could see Sapnap glaring at the speaker, his arms tensed and shuddering against the hands holding him down. He fervently prayed that his friend would have the sense to back down, but it seemed that the voice either didn’t mind the show of defiance or was challenging it by ignoring it.

“I had expected better,” the voice continued. “Especially since you all had been  _ so _ highly spoken of. I believe you’ve even engaged in several duels with other well-known fighters. From what I’ve heard, you’ve all cheated death many times: you most of all, Dream.”

Dream still kept his head down, though his teeth were clenched so tightly he thought his jaw might snap. George was a little too far out of his peripheral vision for him to see properly but he seemed to be very still as the voice spoke again.

“I’ve heard a lot about you Dream, and I’m not just talking about what people say.” The boots took a step closer. “People’s minds speak a thousand more truths than their words could ever express, and they think some  _ very _ interesting things about you, Dream.”

Cold steel pressed to the underside of Dream’s chin and he felt a sharp point press into this thoat, the flat of a triangular blade forcing him to raise his head. The broad head of the spear kept his gaze up and it met the steady, burning white eyes of the owner standing at the other end of the long ashwood shaft, his hand tight around the grip.

A crown sat upon his head, as if his position as royalty could excuse his actions. His skin was dark in the barely-rising moon, his white eyes only burning brighter as the sun left the world. He had no smile but his lips were pressed together in a way that made Dream feel like he was a labrat being examined before a series of tests.

The lips flickered into an amused smile. “Labrat, hm? I suppose I could arrange something: I  _ am _ very interested in your physical ability and mental processing speed. You could be very useful to me, Dream…”

His voice trailed off, his eyes boring into the partially masked man then flicking away to the other two men, drawing a breath of relief from Dream. “However, I only have two spaces available in my cells right now. So, Dream.”

The spearhead dropped from Dream’s chin and Herobrine took two measured steps away, sweeping his arms and weapon wide, his grin becoming something like a snigger. “Pick which of your friends die.”

“ _ What? _ ” George and Sapnap shouted simultaneously, their voices slightly strained as a cold steel blade rested against the side of Dream’s neck, not putting pressure on there, but remaining as a warning. Casting small glances to either side of him, Dream saw that each of his friends also had a sword to their neck but where Dream’s was on the side, both of theirs were around the front of their throats, ready to pierce the skin in a moment.

Dream opened his mouth to speak but Herobrine already shook his head, his eyes on Dream’s. “You don’t get to choose yourself,” he said lowly. “You’re only useful to me if you’re alive, and I have no reason to keep two  _ humans  _ around. If you don’t choose, I’ll just have to dispose of both.”

“No!” Dream shouted before he could stop himself, knowing that Herobrine had seen the flash of fear in his eye. “No, I… I can choose.”

“ _ What _ ?” George repeated, but Sapnap’s voice was stronger and more commanding.

“Dream, choose me, I don’t mind,” he said clearly despite the blade at his throat. “You and George should live.”

“What?! No, Dream, choose me, you and Sapnap-”

“George-”

“Will both of you  _ shut up _ ?” Dream snapped, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to meet Herobrine’s unbearable gaze. He tried to think as much as he could with everyone’s eyes on him, tried to assess the outcomes, the ups and downs, the benefits and the drawbacks- These were his  _ friends _ , how could he-?

“My patience is wearing thin, Dream,” Herobrine growled.

“I  _ know _ ,” Dream said, trying not to growl it back. He took in a few steady breaths, steeling himself for his next words and what would happen next as he opened his eyes. “Kill George.”

“Dream-!”

George’s cry was cut off as the blade slashed and blood flew, but Sapnap’s wasn’t. The warriors holding him fought to keep him down as he surged to his feet with fury in his eyes and a scream on his lips and no one present - not even Sapnap himself - was sure whether his target was Herobrine or Dream. Regardless, he was brought back under control and the edges of Herobrine’s mouth twitched up. With a wave of his spearhead, Dream was heaved to his feet and shoved from behind, forced to march as the rest of Herobrine’s escort set off, their master at their head.

Dream twisted around, catching sight of his friend’s body carelessly splayed out on the deep green grass, illuminated by the moonlight, his goggles hanging off his head as the ground was soaked red. “Wait! His body, you have to bury him!”

His shouts were ignored and he was restrained as he tried to pull himself free and when he tried to shout again, he was hit in the back of the head with the butt of a weapon. The action made stars spin in his vision and while he stumbled and nearly fell, he stayed conscious. 

Sapnap was dragged beside and a little behind him and Dream could feel the fury radiating off his friend even though he couldn’t see him. “ _ Why _ , Dream? Why George, why him, I was happy to die-”

“Because I’m hoping that  _ maybe _ by the end of all this, I can make sure that at least  _ one _ of my friends is still alive,” Dream hissed back, his own evenly mixed fury and regret meeting Sapnap’s. “Whatever’s going to happen, George wouldn’t have survived it for long. I’m hoping that you might resist it a bit longer.”

“ _ That’s _ why you kept me alive?” Sapnap snapped. “Because you think that I can take more pain than George could?”

Dream’s breathing was becoming uneven. “We just need to fight long enough until someone finds us and gets us out.”

Sapnap didn’t speak for a long time. In fact, he didn’t speak at all until the moon was setting and the first hints of daylight were lighting up the sky and the entrance to the Nether and Herobrine’s dominion below. When he did speak, his voice was cold and distant and bore no mercy and no friendship.

“If we get out of this alive, Dream, then I’m killing you. And if we die, then I hope your death is long and painful.”


	4. My way or the highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Manhandled, forced to their knees.  
> Characters: Technoblade, Philza
> 
> Techno is renowned for never being caught off-guard and for never surrendering. But when Phil's life is on the line, surrender suddenly seems like a reasonable option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely inspired by the DreamSMP lore, but it's not in the DreamSMP world.
> 
> Enjoy!

Techno should have been watching his back but he’d been so absorbed in the tranquil business of tending to his modest potato farm that he missed the warning signs, only jumping to alertness when he heard the door to the room leading to his farm slam. He instantly flicked his head up, small eyes narrowing as he rose to his feet, gripping the handle of his hoe. It sounded like multiple people were approaching - even  _ more _ reason for him to have been wary - including someone with a heavy weight to their steps.

Techno planted his feet into the ground, still mindful of his precious potatoes as the intruders entered his farm room. He took in the matching armour they were all wearing, the masks covering their mouths and nose, the many shields and axes and swords and spears they all carried as they fanned out into a shallow semi-circle, all facing him. It wasn’t a very strategically good room for Techno to be in. The only exit to his farm was the doorway that was now blocked by enemies.

“Evening,” the piglin hybrid grunted, his tusks twisting his lips as he spoke. He hefted his hoe in his hand. How hard would it be to smash the end through one of those helmets and into the skull? Probably not too difficult, the end of the hoe was a bit blunt but still pointed. The mess it would cause didn’t bother him, especially since the blood would be good for the potatoes.

“Technoblade, you’re under arrest for crimes to the Nation,” one of the masked men spoke. “You’ve been ruled  _ quasi in rem* _ to be guilty and have been condemned to execution by hanging. Hand yourself over and come quietly.”

Techno scoffed. “If you wanted me to ‘come quietly’ then you shouldn’t have announced your arrival.” His voice was flat, verging on disinterested, though Techno was anything but.

“We have you badly outnumbered-” the man started to speak but Techno spoke over him.

“You  _ really _ think you all are enough to contain me?” he asked, twisting the hoe in his grip, his tone becoming deadly. “You  **_really_ ** think that you all can take me?” He’d faced worse than this (though he was struggling to think of them at the moment, but he blamed that on being focused). His blood was beginning to race as he thought of the bloodshed to come, familiar voices whispering in the back of his mind. 

The speaker paused, perhaps off-put by his boldness, perhaps doubting himself. Techno’s snout twisted into his version of a smirk which was only made even more intimidating by his curling tusks. No one fights the Blood God without facing the consequences. He watched with a touch of confusion as the speaker turned to murmur something and the group split down the middle, clearing the doorway. A stupid tactical decision, now his way was easy to get through-

Someone who had been kept out of sight was shoved through the doorway and stumbled to their knees, hands tied behind their back and a gag over their mouth, grey wings bound to their chest with ropes. A shiver of fear burst through Techno, rapidly followed by a surge of anger and hate.

“Phil! What did they do to you!” he shouted despite the smallness of the room, his hands tight on the handle of his hoe.

The avian prisoner jerked against the gloved hand that held tight to his arm, trying to tell Techno something with his eyes but Techno wasn’t understanding it. He saw the ropes that were binding Philza’s wings, knowing how uncomfortable such a thing was, he caught a glimpse of the chains wrapped around his legs and could guess the same had been done to his arms, and desperation shone through the fear as he realised the danger Phil was in, surrounded by enemies.

“Leave Phil alone!” he snarled in a half-shout. “Take me, just leave him alone!”

“Then drop the hoe!” the first enemy shouted. He had his sword in his hand, standing  _ so close  _ to Phil. Techno hesitated once, for only a moment, then dropped his makeshift weapon, letting it thump into the dirt at his feet.

“On your knees!”

Techno showed off his tusks. “Let Phil go first.”

“Kick the hoe away and get on your knees. Then I’ll release him.”

Phil had been furiously moving his mouth and he finally got the gag to slip, leaving him free to speak. “Techno, no!” he snapped, his tone in an order that made Techno’s spine straighten. “I’ll be fine-”

“They have you in  _ chains _ , Phil!” Techno pointed out.

“You are  _ not _ surrendering yourself-”

Techno ignored him and looked into the face of the primary enemy. “If I give myself up and come quietly, will you release Phil? And let his wings loose?”

The warrior tilted his head. “Yes, I will.”

“Techno…” Phil warned, his eyes steady and his expression stern.

“Sorry Phil,” Techno said, but he didn’t sound very sorry. He flicked his part-hoofed foot, catching the handle of the hoe and tossing it away from him. He carefully dropped to his knees, making sure his cape wouldn’t be caught underneath him and become dirtied. He wouldn’t put his hands behind his head, he wasn’t stooping that far down.

The garbed enemies who had fanned out now encircled him and he snarled at them, keeping them back and tensing as they trod all over his precious farm. “Let Phil go,” he ordered.

He rolled his eyes but the leader reached down and fiddled with the cuffs on Phil’s hands, hissing something to the avian that made him stiffen and flick his eyes to Techno, who instantly knew that he had been threatened with Techno’s wellbeing. Philza was completely still as he was released; first his arms, then his legs, and finally his wings which fluttered gratefully. He was very slow as he stood, making no sudden movements.

“Phil, go,” Techno ordered in a voice similar to the one Phil had used before, but it carried the tone of care that only Phil could drag out of him. Whatever happened next, he didn’t want Philza to see it.

The hybrid shook his head slightly, his expression stony but his eyes welling with pain.

“ _ Phil. Go _ ,” Techno repeated, trying to make him understand. Techno wasn’t surrendering for good; he was buying them time. Time for Phil to go and gather their allies to save him before his execution came.

Phil seemed to understand this time and he nodded, though Techno understood the pained look in his eyes and knew that Phil was bracing for this to be the last time he ever saw the piglin hybrid. He left quickly, his footsteps heavy and light all at once. Some of the tension went out of Techno at his departure. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well.

The leader approached him, bringing with him the cuffs that had restrained Phil and Techno snarled. “I’m coming quietly, so I expect not to be restrained.”

“You’d  _ expect _ that,” the leader agreed.

He heard someone move behind him and Techno turned but not fast enough to stop the blow from catching him in the head. He grunted, the force tipping him forward and he fell to the ground, his hands bracing to push himself up but a dozen bodies lept on him. He wiggled and tried to get free but he felt one of his hands be pulled behind his back, then the other. Someone was sitting on his legs and warm metal went around his wrists, metal clanging together. He fought harder, his tusks scraping the dirt of his ruined farm but weights went on his hoofs and then someone was holding his head still as cloth was pulled tight over his eyes.

“You didn’t blindfold Phil,” he grumbled.

“Philza knew where we were going,” the voice of the leader snarled. “You don’t get the luxury of it.”

Techno huffed. “You said you’re arresting me for ‘crimes to the Nation’, so obviously you’re taking me to the Capital for my execution. It’s not hard to figure out.”

The reply he got was to be yanked to his feet by the chains that tied him, stumbling with his legs only given a short length of chain to walk with but hands caught him and gripped his arms firmly. He was pulled from his farm, silently mourning his ruined potato crop and was dragged as a prisoner from his own home. He could feel the afternoon sun beating down on the left side of his head and knew they had turned north towards the Capital. A hand grabbed his long braid, his pride and joy, and he snarled furiously, baring his tusks and his blunt teeth. “ _ Don’t _ touch my hair.”

There was a dark chuckle. “You don’t have any choice, Technoblade. You’re a tried criminal. You’re the property of the Nation now.”

A thrill of pure fear coursed through Techno and he couldn’t get rid of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quasi in rem, from my understanding, is an American legal term that basically means taking legal action against a person despite them being absent from the courtroom. I think it usually applies to property but it was too cool for me to resist using.


	5. Running out of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Collapsing building  
> Character: Tubbo
> 
> A letter told Tubbo that Tommy wanted to meet him. Letters lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Tubbo. You'll get a good(ish) ending, I promise. We just... gotta go through a couple of things first.

“Hello?” Tubbo asked with a timid voice, slowly stepping down the spiralling staircase. He resisted the urge to touch the walls that were coated with moss and mould in the dimness.  _ Why _ had Tommy asked him to come here? It seemed like a sucky place to meet but maybe the blond had wanted to show him something. Tubbo hadn’t gotten much from the letter he’d received and he stopped under the next low-burning torch, putting the folded piece of paper from his inner shirt pocket to read it again.

_ Hey Tubbo,  
_ _ Come to that house near the abandoned shed we found a couple weeks ago at lunch. Meet me at the bottom of the staircase in the corner.  
_ __ Tommy.

Not greatly phrased and it had nearly no information but it was Tommy, so what could Tubbo expect? With nothing gleaned from it, he folded it back away into his pocket. His shoes threatened to slip on the smoothness of the stairs as he continued down and he puffed out a sigh of relief when he reached the bottom, able to put his feet on firm ground.

“Tommy, I’m here,” he called as he walked forward, looking around the room. It was clearly a basement but a hardly used one, with mould and moss on the walls and slime on the floor and a horrible smell of neglect that made Tubbo screw up his nose. A horrible place to meet, really. He walked further in, seeing that it was only a single room with a couple of chains on the walls that looked like they used to hold bundles of logs against the stone. Where was Tommy? There was no place to hide here and nothing interesting-

Tubbo gave a yelp of fright as he felt something grab his wrist from behind and something cold and metallic lock around it. He spun around, his heart leaping into his mouth, only catching a glimpse of tanned skin and unruly black hair before his feet were kicked out from underneath him. He fell heavily to the ground with a grunt, his chained wrist being dragged up as the other end of it was tugged and he was dragged to the wall, locked against it with those chains he saw before. 

“Sapnap, what the hell?!” Tubbo exclaimed, not bothering to try struggling against the chain. He wasn’t strong, he wouldn’t be able to break it.

“Nothing personal, Tubbo,” Sapnap said, dusting his hands on his black pants as he took a few steps back. His white shirt was clean and neat, the flame symbol on the front a bright orange as he flicked the tails of his black bandana over his shoulder.

“It kinda feels personal,” the young boy told him with a touch of sullenness to his voice.

Sapnap shrugged. “Not my fault. But if they’re planning on making  _ you _ the head of the council then we can’t have that.”

“Who’s  _ we _ ?”

“Dream, George, and me, duh,” Tubbo was told. 

Tubbo swallowed down his fear. “So all three of you organised this? To trap me down here and leave me to die?”

“Nope, just me.” Sapnap had the decency to look apologetic as he shrugged. “I gotta make it look like an accident. Just close your eyes and you won’t see the building collapsing on top of you.”

Fear lept into Tubbo’s mouth and he couldn’t swallow it down as he choked “Sapnap wait!” but Sapnap was already leaving up the stairs, leaving Tubbo alone in the deep basement of an abandoned house. The weight of all the stone and rock and dirt above him made Tubbo feel very small and  _ very _ breathless as he looked up, already imagining it coming down to crush him.

Tubbo pulled and tugged desperately at the chains, trying to pry it from his wrist or yank it from the wall or wrench a link open but the chain was thick and stubbornly refused his attempts. Was Sapnap kidding about the building collapsing? Tubbo didn’t think so. Would Sapnap blow it up?  How long did he have until it came down? It had only taken him a minute to get down here, so he only had about thirty seconds now at most. The thought made Tubbo tug harder at the chains, tears building in his eyes and a sob straining his chest. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to die, he just wanted to see Tommy again.

Desperately, he put his hand on the chain, holding it tight enough that he felt the sharp metal cutting his palm, his teeth gritted and his blue eyes glowing with magic in the dimness as he pulled and tugged harder and harder. The metal softened under his clenched touch, growing weaker and weaker until it gave away like soft butter and Tubbo was free.

He wasted no time scrambling up, sprinting for the stairs and running up them two at a time, his chest tight as he panted. He couldn’t have long. Twenty seconds, maybe. Fifteen. Ten-

An explosion rocked the ground above him and he froze, his eyes widening as he looked up at the earth above him, terror filling his body. The stone he was surrounded by started trembling and he heard it crumbling above and below him. He ran up, sobbing, dust filling the narrow passage, blindly reaching out with his hands to feel his way. Tiny rocks started tumbling down his feet, tripping him, then came bigger ones that scraped his skin, then bigger ones still that made him stagger, then ones that threatened to bodily toss him down the staircase, burying him alive. He sobbed and choked on the dust, stumbling but staying on his feet as rocks came pouring down, beating his body but he pushed onwards even as the stairs became broken and rough underfoot, blind save for the bright blue flashes that occasionally burst before him, the light always accompanied by the tiny fragments of rock flying against his face and chest. 

Tubbo wasn’t sure how he survived but he knew he had when he was on all fours in the thick grass and tall weeds, gasping and retching with sunlight above him, his eyes stinging and his bruised body covered in rock dust. Behind him was a sinkhole, the ruined remains of a stone house decorating it. He took one look at it before he forced himself up and stumbled away, still coughing, bent over, his arm wrapped around his bleeding stomach with blood running down his legs.


	6. Where do you think you're going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Failed escape  
> Characters: The Dream Team
> 
> Dream tries to run, but even a speedrunner fails sometimes.

The rapid pounding of feet filled his ears and commanded the beating of his heart as the man sprinted, the wind snatching at his fluorescent green hoodie. Pain spiked in one of his ankles with each running step and the wide iron bands around his forearms were too tight but Dream didn’t let himself acknowledge it. He ran, ducking in the shadows where he could but prioritising speed over stealth. Ahead in the looming darkness, he knew that the large fence was waiting for him. He’d leap up it, climb as fast as he could and vault over the top. He’d have to use his hands to hold down the barbed wire at the top but a couple of deep scratches would be worth it if he got out. Any moment now-

He felt a tug on one of his wrists as if the iron was being pulled by a giant magnet, the force pulling him off-balance, halting his headlong sprint. “ _ No! _ ” he shouted, trying to throw himself forward even as his arm was ruthlessly pulled to the ground, the iron band clinging to the dirt. He frantically tried to pull himself free, tried to use what strength still lay in his body, his attempts only growing more desperate as he heard a half dozen chuckles around him.

“Look what we’ve got here,” one of them cooed, approaching him. Dream watched him come from the sides of his mask, still trying to wrench his arm free. Stupid iron band, stupid guard with powers- “A little rat trying to escape again.”

Dream felt a hard boot hit the side of his ribs - the side that the speaker wasn’t on - and he gave a cry, his body thrown aside while his arm was still pinned. A moment later, the band on his other arm was locked to the ground and now Dream was lying half-spreadeagled, his legs doing nothing as he kicked, vainly attempting to stand himself up.

“Stay down  _ rat _ ,” a guard snarled, stomping on Dream’s legs. The hoodied prisoner hissed, twisting to give a glare but a foot swung for his face and he gave a sharp cry as it collided, his mask doing little to absorb the blow. His poor mask. It had seen him through so much over the years but it was badly cracked and splintered now, holding on by fibres and sheer inanimate stubbornness.

“Rats need to learn their place,” a new voice sneered, another kick hitting the same place as before, drawing a gasp from the downed prisoner who tried to curl up on himself but his limbs were pinned and his hoodie provided no padding to protect him from the rain of blows that followed, all aiming for the parts of him that were vulnerable; his damaged leg, his bruised ribs, his twisted wrist, his aching jaw. He was fairly sure that the only reason they didn’t break the mask from his face was because their leader wanted to do it in person. He quickly grew numb to the beatings that went on and on, his body reactively jerking as it was hit.

George paced his small circle in the cell he occupied which in reality was tiny in its own right and George was not a large person. His goggles sat on top of his head, keeping his unkempt and dirty hair out of his eyes. He chewed on his thumbnail as he paced, his eyes frequently glancing over to the empty cell beside his, the one that had the door closed but unlocked. It had been nearly twenty minutes since Dream had broken out which was a new record. George just hoped he had managed to get free.

A door of iron slammed against rock, the sound echoing metallically through the cells and making George jump. He exchanged a nervous glance with Sapnap, who slowly stood from his cross-legged position, and Halo, who was gripping the bars so tightly that the black skin of his fingers appeared grey.

Footsteps sounded, a dozen of them, accompanied by a frail coughing that couldn’t mean anything good. George’s heart sank into his boots as he saw the guards stomping in, two of them dragging a limp Dream between them, blood dripping from his mouth and his lime green hoodie dirtied and ripped. They opened the door to his cell and bodily threw him inside, shutting the door with a loud clang. Dream gave a muffled groan as he hit the ground and coughed again, red liquid dribbling from his mouth. His hands slowly moved to push himself up.

“And you’ll get worse next time you try to escape,” one of the guards smirked as they looked down on the beaten man. “The boss wants you alive, but he doesn't care if you’ve got a broken spine.”

Dream’s face was set into a snarl but he didn’t have the strength to make a noise as the boots of the guards stomped away. He coughed, spitting up saliva mixed with blood, his hands feebly feeling the tender bits of his chest. George shuffled up to the bars, reaching his hand through to try and touch Dream but the masked man was too far away. “Dream!” he whispered. “Dream, are you okay? What happened?”

Sapnap and Halo watched with nervous eyes as Dream wiped his mouth, shifting his mask to the side of his face so that it only covered one of his eyes. “I-I almost saw the fence,” he said in a choked voice that gurgled with the blood in his mouth. “I-I was almost there. I-I almost ma-made it.”

“It’s okay, Dream,” George whispered, still reaching out his hand. “It’s okay, we’ll get out soon. Come here.”

Dream shook his head, his body shaking. “I-I sh-shouldn’t have lead us here, I-I screwed us all-”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dream,” Sapnap reminded from across the corridor. “We were doing a manhunt, we all should have been more aware.”

“Come here,” George whispered again.

The partially-masked man painfully shuffled over, his breaths wheezing in his chest. He slumped against the bars, his head resting against the thin iron cylinders, letting George’s hand carefully feel for his wounds and the tenderness of his chest which made Dream hiss. Sapnap sat back down against the back wall as Halo slowly slid down the bars of his cell, his eyes watching the three of them nervously.

“We can’t do anything with these bands on,” Dream coughed, his fingers grazing against the band on his injured wrist. “Any time we run, they’ll just use these to stop us.”

“How can we take them off?” Sapnap asked, looking down at the identical bands on his own wrists and ankles. Dream didn’t propose a solution.

“Someone will find us soon, right?” Halo asked nervously. “Someone will know we’re missing and they’ll find our trail.”

No one answered. They all knew full-well that people had grown used to the four disappearing for days at a time and by the time a search party would be formed to look for them, they were likely to be dead.


	7. Please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: No more, "Stop, please!"  
> Character: Steve, Entity, Herobrine, Notch.
> 
> Herobrine and Notch are the only ones who are having a fun time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this one is graphic torture (I think? I don't really know what classifies as 'graphic'), fire, and branding. Also being forced to watch everything occur.

Entity hated the whimpers that came from his mouth but they seemed to be a package deal with the tears that ran down his cheeks and the shaking of his body. His arms were pinned above him, the shackles digging deep into his skin and his legs dragging on the floor but every time he tried to use them to support himself, whips flew and cracked against his skin. His shirt had long-since fallen off from the mistreatment and lay in ribbons around him. The whip sounded so frequently that Entity would have become numb to it if they hadn’t found new ways to cause pain. 

Their favourite and most recent one was the treatment Entity was getting now. The whip was made of leather but Herobrine must have found a way to alter them because they glowed red-hot as they cracked, leaving burns among the open wounds. They didn’t seem to care where they hit him; his chest, the tender part of the inner arms, his legs, his face - a cut ran under his eye and (assuming he made it out of here alive) it would probably scar him for life.

The whip cracked again, slicing through the skin at the base of Entity’s neck and a scream was ripped from him, his back arching and the back of his head scraping the rough concrete wall splattered with flecks of his blood.

“ _ Just STOP IT, PLEASE _ ,” a different voice screamed from across the room, the words nearly instantly cut off by the sharp sound of fleshy contact and a shocked gasp.

“Mind your damn words or he’ll get worse,” Herobrine hissed.

Entity bit back a groan as he turned his head to look over in their direction. Herobrine still had his fist raised, his expression beyond furious as he glared down at the figure crumbled at his feet, his hand nursing the bright red mark on his cheek. He raised his eyes to the furious man then looked over at Entity, his mauve eyes full of pain and fear, though the only physical pain here was what Entity was receiving. The red-eyed man held back his whimpers as he rolled his head away, closing his eyes so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with the third brother who was standing before him, dipping the tip of the whip into the red-hot coals.

Unseen by Entity, Herobrine took his gaze from Steve and cast it on Notch who was waiting before the chained man with the handle of the whip dangling quite nearly carelessly in his hand. He raised his eyebrows, his black eyes meeting his brother’s white ones.

“Well?” he asked.

Herobrine glanced back down at his other brother, his glare turning to a smirk as he reached down and grabbed a fistfull of Steve’s hair, using it to pull him up. Steve shouted and kicked and clawed with his fingernails at Herobrine’s hand but the mild pain didn’t bother the elder who dragged him to the corner where a large plastic cylinder was bolted. He tossed Steve inside, white magic pulling the door shut. Holes were pierced in the top of the tube to ensure Steve didn’t suffocate but the material was strong enough to hold him inside as he scrambled to his feet, banging his hands on the surface and kicking at the door.

Herobrine’s stance was lazy as he leaned against the wall of the tube, waving a hand in Notch’s direction. “You have your fun, Notch. Entity can take more, I know him.”

“No he can’t, just  _ stop _ !” Steve yelled from his cylindrical prison, his voice muffled by the plastic walls. His cries were ignored by Notch who hefted his whip again, dragging the tip out of the coals. It smoked in the air as he lazily flicked it, purely for the crack that made the chained man before him flinch, a small whimper of “Please…” fall from his lips.

The tiny whisper made Notch’s smirk widen into a wide grin and he flicked the whip properly, carving the end expertly across Entity’s chest. The red-hot tip and the searing pain made him arch his back with a ripped scream of  _ “PLEASE!” _ torn from his throat, his head thrown back. 

“Please what?” Notch asked, dipping the tip back into the burning brazier. He had missed this  _ dearly _ , missed seeing a human being squirm under his actions, reduced to animalistic begging. Initially, when Herobrine had approached him, he’d been apprehensive but his younger brother had proved to be just as adept as Notch was, though he - knowing Notch’s love for the art - had left the fun parts to him.

Entity whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut and shaking his head slightly, pressing his lips together. His fragile show of resistance only made Notch’s pride swell. “Ask nicely,” he said sweetly as he flicked the whip again, careless of where it landed. The cheek was sliced open a second time and a hoarse scream of “STOP, PLEASE!” was slashed from his throat.

Steve was screaming too, throwing himself against the wall of his cell as he tried to reach his friend. Herobrine didn’t even deign to feign concern and instead picked at his nails. Notch idly wiped the blood from his whip, quickly swiping at the red-hot end. “Do you reckon he’s ready to talk?” he asked innocently, ignoring the sobbing coming from the chained man before him.

“I doubt it, from how he’s banging,” Herobrine remarked, inspecting his nails. 

Notch hummed, tilting his head as he regarded Entity. “Give me a hand with this, Herobrine.”

The white-eyed twin stepped over as Notch unchained Entity from the walls, handing the wrists to Herobrine to keep secure, which he did with ease. Entity coughed and hissed as his body was shifted, aggravating his cuts. Notch grabbed his chin, twisting the head of the dark-skinned man and inspecting it with his lips pursed. Dropping it, he moved over to the brazier and the red-hot coals it contained. “Bring him here.”

With ease, Herobrine dragged Entity the short distance, keeping his balance as blood flecked the floor. Notch grabbed a fistful of the black hair, holding the head over the brazier and twisting it so that the tortured man could look at his friend, his cheek turned to the coals. The heat made him hiss weakly and try to pull away, but Notch tightened his grip and Herobrine held him firm with his arms behind his back.

“NO! DON’T, PLEASE!” Steve screamed as Notch lowered Entity’s head towards the coals.

“Then tell us what we want to know, Steve,” Notch mused quietly, keeping his eyes on what he was doing. He didn’t see the reaction of his brother but he saw that Entity had his eyes screwed shut, clenching his jaw and biting his lip. Notch smirked. A futile effort to keep the pain silent.

Steve didn’t answer them. Notch looked up at his other brother. “Hold him still, he’s going to thrash a lot for this.”

He forced Entity’s head down, pressing the cheek into contact with the coals. Entity screamed, and screamed again, feeling the heat burning to his bone, the smell of charring skin filling the stone room. He thrashed, which only aggravated his other wounds, and Herobrine held him down more, pressing part of his shoulders to the hot metal of the brazier and he screamed more, crying tears that evaporated from his eyes. Notch watched him carefully, eyes narrowed in furious concentration. He picked the exact moment when Entity could take it no more and pulled him from the coals, pushing him away. 

Herobrine released his grip, letting the sobbing man free and gasping and choking. The other torturer left, walking to the large jug of water that was kept in the cell, using it to wet a cloth and bringing it over to Entity, pressing it to the burnt, charred face and getting rid of the small coals that still clung. Entity sobbed with relief as the water, although slightly warm, felt like cooling ice on the burning heat.

“Why are you helping him, I thought the point was to hurt him,” Herobrine said, looking at his brother with a hint of suspicion.

“I know,” Notch said simply. “But if we leave him then the shock and pain will stop his heart. Don’t worry, we’ll build up his tolerance over time. We’ll have our fun.”

Herobrine huffed but Steve could only stare in horror as they spoke so calmly over the spasming body of his friend who had just had his face  _ shoved into a burning brazier of coals _ \- “YOU’RE SICK!” he screamed, throwing himself at the door of his plastic prison. “YOU’RE A SICK, TWISTED MONSTER! BOTH OF YOU!”

“And you’re causing this, Steve,” Herobrine said simply, turning to face his brother and crossing his arms, giving a lazy smile. “All you need to do is tell us what you know and we’ll stop.”

“I don’t  _ know _ anything!” Steve all but sobbed.

Herobrine only shrugged. “Suit yourself. Reckon he can go another round, Notch?”

Notch caught the idea and grinned, standing up. “Another few whips won’t hurt him. Metaphorically speaking.”


	8. I've got you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Support  
> Characters: Dream, SkyDoesMinecraft
> 
> Just two guys who have been forever scarred by the person whom they once thought to be their best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Team Crafted/DreamTeam crossover where Sky runs the Sky Army and Dream's a recruit? Don't mind if I do.

Dream looked at himself in the bedroom mirror, his hand numbly reaching up and drifting over the bandages that were wrapped around the right side of his face, covering from his forehead all the way down to nearly his chin, hiding his eye and cheek. His fingertips merely skimmed the coarse fabric, his uncovered eye dull and lifeless. He regarded himself; taller than most young men of his age though on the skinnier side, with long legs built for speed and agility, the thinness of his arms concealing the iron-hard muscles that lay beneath the long sleeved black turtleneck shirt he wore.

He was tempted to scoff but he didn’t have the physical energy or presence of mind to do so. Even this simple act of raising his arm was exhausting, so he was only a little surprised when it dropped without his will and his legs stumbled and dropped him onto the bed which bounced and dipped below his weight. He put his head in his hands, hissing as the skin under the bandages flared with pain at the contact. Tears pricked at his eyes and he furiously blinked them away, refusing to show weakness even to himself. He was stronger than this, he’s been hurt before but… but never… never to this degree, and- and never- never by someone-

The door to his temporary room opened and he instantly raised his head from his hands, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide the glimmerings of tears in his eyes. The sight of the person who entered made him want to both relax his posture and hide his pain more. The person seemed to have picked this up in his one-eyed gaze because he froze only a step into the doorway, his shoulders moving into a wince as he took in the room. 

“Sorry, I should have knocked, huh?” Sky asked apologetically. 

Dream shrugged, turning his face away. “S’okay. Not like it’s my room or anything.”

“Hey, if that’s what you’re worried about then don’t,” Sky said easily, waving off what he  _ thought _ was Dream’s concern. “I’m mostly set up in my new room anyway, just had to come get my amulet and then I’ll be out of your space.”

“Right. Yeah. It’s fine.”

Sky made a kind of happy humming noise as he stepped into the room, rummaging in the closet at the other end of the square space and then going through the table near the bed Dream sat on. Despite his claims of being “mostly set up” in his other bedroom, Sky seemed to still have a lot of random junk here but he made a triumphant noise and held up a gold and amethyst amulet suspended on a yellow and white gold chain and slipped it over his head. 

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the west wing and everyone else is downstairs,” he said to the other, who hummed but was still looking away. Sky was halfway to the door before Dream raised his voice enough to call “General Sky”.

“Hmm?” Sky turned back around, eyebrows raised and eyes attentive. 

Dream met his gaze. “That scar on your neck,” he said quietly. “The one that Ty gave you. How did you get over it?”

Sky unconsciously raised his hand, his fingers grazing over the huge, red, jagged scar that ran three-quarters of the way across his neck, starting just below his chin and disappearing into the collar of his shirt near his collarbone. Dream had only been a new recruit in the army when Sky had gotten it, and the ex-General Ty hadn’t returned or even been seen since. 

“I’ve never gotten over it,” Sky said quietly, his eyes distant. “He gave it to me over five years ago and I still wake up screaming in the middle of the night.” He said this with a faint laugh, but the look of deep sadness on his face and pained loss in his eyes made it clear that the sound was not one of joy. “It’s just… it becomes part of you after a while. Just something else to add to your life’s story.”

“So it never got better?”

Sky gave a quiet sigh, his eyes closing for a moment and then reopening. “No. It never gets better. When someone that close to you betrays you like that, Dream, and gives you scars that go beyond the physical…” He shook his head. “Those kinds of things don’t ever get better. But they become easier to carry. You learn how to live with that burden- how to live  _ despite _ that burden. You learn how to keep moving forward and, eventually, how to trust again.”

Dream looked away, his whole being heavy. “It… it was just so  _ sudden _ . Anyone else and I would have been on my guard and defended myself but… but it was  _ him _ and…” His eye was burning with tears and he shoved the base of his palm into it. “George is- He  _ was- _ “ A pained sigh was pulled from him. “He’s my  _ friend _ , Sky, one of my best friends, and I-I couldn’t fight back, I couldn’t defend myself against him, I just- I couldn’t hurt him, I  _ wouldn’t _ , and he just…”

Sky was silent, letting Dream speak his thoughts aloud.

“A-And it  _ hurt _ , Sky, it just- A-And now I don’t know what to do with myself, I don’t know where to go from here because he was the one I trusted most and, and  _ now _ ,” (Dream’s voice was starting to turn angry and ugly) “and now I’m here with the knowledge that my best friend just tried to kill me and nearly  _ succeeded  _ and I’m doubting every relationship I have and I’m doubting  _ everything _ I am and  _ everything  _ I believed and I’m just- I  _ hate _ it!”

He was furious, everything within his being was  _ beyond _ furious, and his mind was consumed by nothing but hatred as he reached up and ripped the bandages from his face, yanking at the fabric that came away in threads and ropes with loud rips. Sky gave a shout, launching himself forward.

“Dream! Dream, stop, don’t!! Dream, you can’t, just stop!”

Sky’s hands wrestled with Dream’s arms and after only a moment of resistance, the energy and tension went out of him and Dream went limp, Sky’s hands holding his arms away from his face but the damage was done. The bandages were hanging from his head and around his neck, many pieces scattered across the quilt. The skin that had been underneath it - twisted and molten and red, burned quite nearly beyond recognition - was weeping from where the bandages had been ripped, and his eye, though damaged, was half open as Dream’s other eye was half-closed, his head hanging.

“Dream, look at me,” came Sky’s quiet voice.

Dream didn’t look up. His momentary anger had left as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling more drained and numb than ever.

“Dream.  _ Look at me _ .”

The voice this time was more brisk, giving an order rather than a request so Dream raised his head, meeting his superior’s gaze that was soft and understood what Dream was feeling far better than Dream could understand himself.

“There’s two ways to deal with this, Dream,” Sky said, his voice once more quiet. “There’s this:” He held up the ripped and frayed bandages, tiny fibres drifting from the torn ends. “And then there’s this.”

He reached over to the bedside table, rummaging in the first drawer for only a second before pulling out a pale brown tin. He opened it and Dream saw the oily substance inside as Sky scooped a bit onto his fingers and raised his hand, lightly brushing it across Dream’s horrible burn. The rippled skin flared and Dream hissed, squeezing both his eyes shut and then hissing again as the movement pained his damaged eye. Sky soothingly shushed him, his fingers pausing for a moment before he started to spread the ointment on again.

It burned but it took only a few seconds before the burn subsided into something more pleasurable, the hot skin starting to cool and the beginnings of pain relief beginning to seep in. Sky kept dipping his fingers into the jar, gently spreading the substance over the entire half of Dream’s face, taking care around the tender eye and then going over it all a second time. Dream’s eyes fluttered closed, reality slowly starting to hit him and he stifled a sob, holding back the tears-

“It’s okay,” Sky’s voice murmured from beside him. “Just let it flow.”

So Dream did. And Dream cried.

He didn’t cry much because he didn’t have the energy to but when he had finished and he’d dried his unburnt cheek with tissues, Sky carefully helped him re-bandaged his face with fresh strips, being sure to wind it not too tight and to leave Dream’s mouth, nose, and eye free. When it was done, Dream was feeling a bit better.

“Is this what someone did for you?” he asked quietly as Sky rolled up the rest of the bandages, wiping his hand clean.

“No,” Sky said with a sigh, resealing the ointment jar, pausing for a moment. “Though I wish someone had. Why do you think my scar’s so bad?”

He raised his eyes to meet Dream’s, full of deep sadness and regret, then pushed the tin into the younger’s hands, wrapping them around it. The edges of Dream’s mouth twitched into a grateful smile that faded and he looked away.

“I don’t want to be seen like this,” he admitted, his fingers curling around the small tin. “I don’t want to be remembered like this.”

Sky nodded, thinking for a moment then rising from the bed. Dream watched as he crossed the room to the closet, rummaging through it and pulling out two items that he brought back over, laying out on the bed.

“I wore this one a lot when I first got my scar,” he said, laying a light hand on the lime green jumper he layed out. “The hood was thick enough to hide my neck, but if you wear it with the hood up then it’ll hide the bandages in your hair.” He tossed the second item in his hand, looking a bit less sure but with an edge of his usual joy. “This is just a stupid costume mask, but it might do the trick.”

He held it out and with mild, numb curiosity, Dream took it. It  _ was  _ a costume mask, made of rather flimsy white plastic and probably cheap too, with no holes cut for eyes or a nose. Instead, a simple smiley face had been drawn on with a black marker, the result being slightly uneven but Dream found a sort of appeal in it. He carefully pulled it on, mindful of his burnt face but the mask was light enough to put nearly no pressure on his bandages.

Sky helped him slip on the jumper and the older pulled up the hood, adjusting it so that none of the bandages showed through. “Better?” he asked.

Dream reached up and felt the mask hiding his face, pulling the hood a little further and shaking the sleeves down his arms then tucking him into the overly-large pockets of the jacket. “Much better,” came his voice, slightly muffled behind the mask. “Thank you, Sky.”

Sky clapped his shoulder gently, squeezing it. “Day by day, Dream. Just take the world day by day.”


	9. Where did everybody go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Don't say goodbye"  
> Characters: Tubbo, Setosorcerer, Deadlox, Dream, Sapnap, Technoblade, Philza
> 
> All the times when they didn't want to say goodbye.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I know Tubbo, I know, I know,” said the soothing, deep voice. A hand much bigger than his own was wrapped around his fist that was tightly gripping the rough thumb, refusing to let go. The stubbornness drew a deep chuckle that Tubbo would never forget and a hand brushed his hair and fondled his cheek. “You’ll be safe here, okay? I promise.”

“I don’t want you to go, Dad,” Tubbo murmured, his eyes closing as the touch lulled him to sleep in the small box and blankets he had been nestled in.

Another chuckle came and Tubbo would forever wonder if it was full of tears. “I know Tubbo, I-I know.” A warm breath tickled Tubbo’s cheek and he felt the light brush of a goat’s horn as lips gently kissed him. “But-But you’ll be safe here, okay Tubbo? I-I promise, someone’s going to look after you.”

“Why not you?” Tubbo mumbled.

The voice didn’t say, or perhaps it couldn’t bear to form the words, but a nose brushed his cheek. “I love you Tubbo. Don’t ever forget; Daddy loves you.”

“Don’t go,” was Tubbo’s final murmur before he drifted off, but his father never answered.

\-----------

“Please don’t go.”

Seto spun around, his eyes glowing and purple mist swirling around his hand as he faced the stable door. Ty was standing there, his green headphones around his neck and his amber hair swept out of both of his eyes, the way it always was when he was talking to Seto. The lack of locks covering his face made the worry in his eyes blatantly obvious as he stepped forward, taking in the saddle on the horse and the bag slung over Seto’s shoulder. The sorcerer didn’t bother to answer. He only turned back to the horse with a sigh, tightening a strap.

“Seto, please-”

“This is my choice, Ty,” Seto snapped, his voice uncharacteristically harsh.

“Is this just about what Mitch said?” Ty asked, stepping closer in the darkness of the stable. “Seto, he’s hot-headed and speaks without thinking, we all know it-”

“It’s not  _ just _ that, Ty!” Seto exploded, spinning around with anger in his body and pain in his eyes. “It’s the little things that everyone has been saying for weeks! It’s all the little things you guys  _ haven’t _ said for months! I’m not wanted here Ty, I’ve known that for a long time and I’ve finally decided to not waste all your time with me.” 

He swung himself up into his saddle, gathering in the reins. Ty jumped forward, grabbing the straps before he could ride off, his hand on the sorcerer’s knee. “Seto,  _ please _ ,” he repeated, gripping tightly. “Please don’t leave. We need you-”

“What? Because I have  _ magic _ ?” Seto spat.

“No! Because you keep us together, Seto!” Ty pleaded. “You’re the only one here who can keep his head under pressure and when we get pissed, we’ll fall apart without you. We  _ need _ you, Seto. You’re part of the Team. You’re part of  _ us _ .”

“Try telling that to Mitch,” Seto said darkly. He urged his horse backwards, Ty’s hand dropping. “Try telling it to Adam. Or to anyone else. They won’t agree.”

“Seto-”

Without another word, the sorcerer had already ridden out of the stable, pulling up his hood to hide his face in the night as he rode down the narrow paths and out a small gate of the army base. Ty stood in the door of the stable, staring after him until long after he had left for good.

“Please don’t go,” he murmured to the air.

\-----------

“Dream-”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ say goodbye, Sapnap.”

The raven-head managed a grin, a near-silent chuckle shaking his head, his breath wheezing in his lungs. “I was going to ask if you could get me a drink,” his voice croaked.

“Oh, right.” The dirty-blond grabbed a cup full of clear liquid from the nearby table and held it up, helping Sapnap lift his shoulders a little so that he could drink it. A flutter of the eyes let Dream know when he was done and he took the cup away, letting Sapnap sink back into the thick pillows, a sigh echoing through his thin frame. Dream’s hand drifted down to the bandages that coated his friend’s chest and shoulders, the white speckled with deep red despite everything they had done to help. The medics couldn’t do much else. Nature would take its course now.

Dream pulled the blankets up and tucked them under Sapnap’s chin, his bright green eyes soaked with worry as they tried to meet the dull brown ones that were drifting closed. “Sapnap?” he asked quietly.

“Hey Dream?” Sapnap’s voice murmured thickly. “I don’t think you’re fast enough to win the championship yet.”

A pained chuckle came from the other, his hand brushing the slightly curly hair out of the face so that Sapnap could sleep properly. The championship had been months ago (and Dream had won) but the deeply injured man was already asleep before Dream could correct him. He gave a deep sigh, putting his head down on the bedsheets and closing his eyes, just spending a few minutes in the quiet, listening to the shallow breathing of the sleeping man. 

When he couldn’t bear to stay any longer, he rose, picking up his mask from the table and slipping it onto his face, hiding it completely. He gave one more look to his friend, watching the shallow rising and falling of the thin chest, and left, praying that it wasn’t the last time he’d see Sapnap alive.

\-----------

“See you later Techno! And have something other than potatoes next time!”

Techno rolled his eyes at his younger brother and gave a nod to Philza as he ushered Tommy out of Techno’s home, giving the piglin hybrid a warm smile. “I’ll see you later, Techno.”

“Bye Dad, say hi to Wilbur for me,” Techno grunted with a nod and a tusked smile, closing the door behind the two. His home was rather dark and empty without his family there but he pretended not to care as he walked through it, his royal-esce robe already hanging on the back of a chair. He took off his small crown, laying it nearby and shaking out the loose strands of his hair, feeling them drift down his back with his braid.

He was a warrior, cool and calculating, armed with the knowledge that he could face and defeat any enemy he faced, and also armed with a shield, an axe, two swords, a rocket crossbow, five daggers, three healing potions, and often a golden apple or two. So  _ why _ , when he looked around his empty house, did he feel so intimidated?

He heard sounds, or maybe he imagined them, because there was no one there when he spun around. Light filled the rooms as he lit a couple of torches but he was jumping at the shadows flickering on the wall, imagining- no, no he was  _ hearing _ , he was  _ hearing _ these voices in the back of his mind, filling his thoughts- he thought he was  _ done _ with these! He’d retired, he’d given up violence, he hadn’t even killed an  _ animal _ for months! And the voices hadn’t bothered him once-

His back was to the wall, his hands buried in his hair as he slowly sank down, eyes wild and breath panting through his tusks. He had the weapons, it would be  _ so easy _ . Just a bit of blood, just a few people, just to satisfy the urges, satisfy the  _ voices _ , give  _ blood _ to the  _ Blood God _ \- No, no, no, he was clean, he was retired, he’d promised Phil and Tommy both that he wouldn’t kill, he’d promised-

_ But promises could be broken, right?  _ No, no they couldn’t-  _ Promises are broken all the time _ \- But-But not his promises to Phil, he’d always keep his promises to his Dad-  _ He wouldn’t know- _ But he would, he-he would-  _ Just a little bit of blood, just a little- _

Techno left his house.

Only to be knocking frantically on Phil’s a couple of minutes later.

The handle had hardly been turned but Techno could wait no longer and he burst in, instantly embracing the winged man tightly, burying his face into the crook of the shoulder but always mindful of his tusks. The avian initially lurched back in surprise but returned the tight hug, his hand rubbing the back of Techno’s neck in the way that soothed him.

“The voices came back, huh?” he asked quietly, knowing his son through-and-through. 

Techno nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. “Please don’t go,” he whimpered. “Please don’t say goodbye.”

Philza had no intention of doing so. He kept one hand around Techno as he closed the door and brought him into the kitchen, getting him a glass of water and still hugging him as he drank it. “You can sleep here for the night. And tomorrow night too, as long as you want. You’ve always got home here, Techno. You’ve always got me. I promise.”


	10. For the Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Run!"  
> Characters: Punz, Dream, SkyDoesMinecraft
> 
> Someone gatecrashes a meeting and Punz won't have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that the DreamSMP is mentioned here, but none of the lore of the actual DreamSMP events is canon in this story. I just needed a territory that Dream ran.
> 
> I got carried away with this one and started focusing more on the lore I had developed rather than the prompt itself so uhhhh enjoy this 2000 word short story

Sky might have his failings, but he could nearly always pick a person’s personality after spending a couple of minutes talking to them. He could nearly always tell a nervous but friendly character from someone who was intending to stab you in the back and his ability had saved him and his friends on many occasions. He’d been invited to meetings and peace delegations between dozens of nations purely for his skill of nearly always being able to pick the bad apple in a room. And he said ‘ _ nearly _ ’ because he could not for the  _ life _ of him pick the man who sat opposite him on the table.

Dream was the one who had extended the invitation to meet with Sky, who had accepted and arranged the place per Dream’s request; a city about half-way between the Sky Army base and the DreamSMP that was in the territory of a friend of his, Sparklez. Sky had arrived first with Seto and Mitch and the three had done a quick scope of the surrounding buildings to make sure it was clear, which it was. It was definitely strange for the leader of such a large army to have such a small escort but all three knew that Sky could protect himself just fine if it came down to it.

They had been in the room for a number of minutes before Dream had arrived with his escort of four - again, rather small for a leader. Sky’s eyes had run over them quickly, noting the goggles one wore, the bandana of another, the purple jacket of the third, and the gold chain on the white hoodie of the fourth. Dream himself wore a lime green hoodie and a mask over his face and Sky knew instantly that these four were not just his guards; they were also his friends. 

After introductions, Dream had dismissed all of them save for white-hoodied Punz who stood against the wall, alert and with his axe at his side. That in itself was enough to make alarm bells sound in Sky’s head. Either Dream was an idiot, which didn’t seem likely, or he was prideful, which wasn’t someone Sky wanted to deal with, or he was confident in himself, which made him dangerous.

And the  _ real _ problem was that a good ten minutes into their conversation, Sky still couldn’t tell which one it was. Mitch and Seto stood tall to either side of the window behind him in the same way that Punz stood behind Dream, all three silent as the two leaders talked. Dream had shifted his white mask to the side of his face, letting his neon green eye watch Sky and the edges of his mouth twitch up as they spoke. He was happy, he was enjoying himself, and Sky didn’t know what about him was putting the Sky Army leader on edge. 

“It seems like you’ve done pretty well over there then, considering the circumstances,” Sky said as Dream finished telling him all about the SMP and those involved. “You’ve got your team set up, got an established trade and law system going, got your defence mobilised, everything’s good. Did you want to meet with me because you’re hoping to get an alliance with the Sky Army set up?” Dream hadn’t yet  _ said _ what he wanted to talk to Sky about and while Sky didn’t like addressing things head-on like this, he didn’t have many options when he couldn’t read the other.

He was a little surprised to see Dream falter, his smile disappearing and his eyes glancing away. “No, not- not necessarily, I… I’ve only just got things properly settled back at home so I wanted to… kinda focus on that for a while before I start thinking about everyone else. I… I actually wanted to talk to you because… I was hoping to get some advice from you, since you’ve been leading your own kingdom for so long.”

That  _ did _ surprise Sky, enough to make him lean back in his seat a little, eyebrows raised slightly and his golden eyes watching as Dream continued. “I’ve only really told Punz this, I haven’t spoken to George or Sapnap about it at all but… I’ve just kinda been making all this up as I’ve gone along,” he explained, eyes on his fingers that tapped on the top of the wooden table. “It’s just been luck that it’s all turned out okay but now that it has, I… don’t really know what it is that I’m doing. I don’t really know what the next step is. So I wanted to ask you if you could teach me how to be a leader. I don’t… really have parents or older friends to turn to.”

Sky got a sudden insight into Dream. “Welcome to the orphans club,” he said with a warm smile. The comment made Dream glance up, a matching smaller smile on his face as Sky continued. “Look, you’re already doing great. You’re listening to the people around you and you’re reaching out for help when you know you need it, so that’s two of the hardest things done. Next thing; I’m the leader of another nation that at some point in the future could be enemies with yours so until we have an alliance between us, play it safe and act confident even when you’re not, but don’t be stupid about it.”

“Got it,” Dream said with a nod, his head coming up and shoulders straightening and his eye losing the edge of insecurity. Within a second, he had come from looking unsure to a quietly confident warrior, and Sky was both impressed and unnerved by the ability to shift. 

“Good. Next thing is to never get a big head. Leaders have brought down a dozen nations after they got too full of themselves and brought their own to ruin in the process. Other than that, learn. Get your hands on as many books as you can, talk to as many people as you can, and  _ don’t _ ignore those nations and kingdoms around you because it’s only going to stab you in the back later.”

Dream gave another nod, probably taking mental notes. “But how do you balance it all? Being a leader and spending time with friends and having time to yourself?”

Sky gave a short bark of laughter. “Well history would prove that I’m  _ horrible _ at figuring out that balance-” (Mitch gave a snort in the background but pretend he hadn’t done anything) “but the short answer is that you’ve got to get it wrong for a couple months before you figure it out. How the balance is managed and how much time is spent on work vs personal life varies from person to person and over the years depending on what’s happening. But you’re right, it’s  _ very _ important for you to take some time to yourself. It clears and relaxes your mind, makes you more able to handle the tough decisions.”

They talked for a bit more, Sky giving more advice as Dream asked for it but the older  _ still _ couldn’t get a read on the younger, even as their talk stretched to an hour. It unnerved him greatly how he couldn’t pick this young man. Finally, it unnerved him enough for him to dismiss Seto and Mitch with a wave of his hand, both warriors giving him a concerned glance before leaving. Dream didn’t dismiss Punz but Sky hadn’t expected him to as he leaned forward, sitting his arms on the table and lacing his fingers together, his golden eyes piercing into Dream’s neon green one.

“Tell me who you are, Dream.”

Confusion flicked through Dream’s eyes, as Sky knew it would. “Sorry?”

“Tell me who you are,” Sky growled, letting his eyes flash dangerously. The action made Dream lean back in his chair, a shuffle of clothes sounding in the room as Punz moved forward but a hand movement from Dream that Sky didn’t see made him stop.

“I didn’t know you had magic,” Dream said carefully.

Sky gave him a smile, a remarkably friendly one. “Most people don't. That’s kind of the idea.”

He reached forward with blinding speed, his hand reaching out to grab Dream’s wrist but the other leader jerked away just as fast, Sky’s hand missing but the golden magic that spat out  _ didn’t _ miss and Dream’s wrist was pinned to the table, Sky grabbing him a moment later. Dream flinched at the quick movements, his other hand reaching down to his waist.

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Sky growled, his eyes glowing brighter. Dream froze, his green gaze locked on Sky. Slowly, his hand moved away from the hidden blade and pressed palm-down onto the table where they both could see it.

“Who are you?” Sky hissed. “And what’s your goal?”

The partially-masked face watched him for a moment. “My name is Dream Rovenvale. I’m in charge of the DreamSMP.”

“And?” Sky asked when Dream didn’t add more.

Dream opened his mouth to speak again but his eyes flicked to something behind Sky and they widened. His wrist flicked and his hand gripped Sky’s and his body lurched back, his weight and strength heaving Sky over the table in one simple motion. Sky gave a shout as he was pulled, instantly drawing his magic to counterattack but a second later, the window behind him exploded, sending glass shards and fire across the two leaders who sheltered behind the table. 

“Dream!” came Punz’s voice as the guard lurched forward into the cloud of dust and the pair of coughs as shouts came from the now-shattered window and heavy, metal-clad footsteps landed in the room.

Dream and Sky stumbled away from the table and one of the intruders - cased in thin, shining gold armour, a curved sword in hand - leapt at them, blade coming down onto the masked man’s head.

“ _ Run _ !” Punz yelled as he dove between them, arm coming up to block the blow with his body. His scream filled the ears of everyone in the room and blood flew through the air and Dream flinched to turn around but Sky had regained his grip on the younger’s arm and dragged him away, the two escaping out the door as Punz’s cries of defiance and pain echoed behind them.

“No!” Dream shouted, pulling against Sky and frantically glancing back. “I have to help Punz, I have to!”

“No!” Sky said just as furiously, stronger than the other. “We have to leave him!’

“He’s my  _ FRIEND- _ ”

“You think I haven’t been in this situation before?!” Sky yelled, old pain echoing in his voice. “You leave him! You honour his sacrifice by running and keeping yourself safe! You’re a leader, and we don’t get to save everyone! We don’t get to make that choice! We have to trust his judgement!”

Dream gave a strangled cry but he stopped struggling and started running with the other, the two bursting out of the building and in the chaos of the street, disappeared into a side-alley. Here, Sky pulled Dream around, pinning him against the wall. “Who are you?!” he yelled.

“I don’t know!” Dream yelled back, tears running down his face. “I don’t  _ know _ who I am! I don’t know where I came from, I don’t know why I can run like I can, I don’t know why I’m agile enough to dodge an arrow coming for my head, I don’t even know if Dream’s my real name! I know _ nothing _ about myself!”

Suddenly, Sky understood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t read anything from Dream; it was that he was reading  _ everything _ from Dream. Dream was confident and insecure, he was smart and yet out of his depth, he was both against you and with you in the same breath, he was your friend and your enemy, and how could anyone understand a person who didn’t even know themselves? Someone who was so young and yet so old?

He let out a tense breath, closing his eyes and pinning the masked man for a moment longer before he let him go. Dream took a step away instantly, pulling his mask over his face and hiding it just as footsteps sounded and purple magic flared at the end of their alleyway. “It’s okay Seto, it’s us,” Sky called, his own golden flare answering.

Mitch and Seto ran forward, quickly accompanied by Dream’s guards but Dream cut off their stammering questions. “We need to get out of the city. Someone wants us dead.”

“It’s not Sparklez,” Sky said. “His warriors are the Red Knights, and those men wore gold, but they weren’t from my army either.”

“Well whoever they are, I think they’re scanning the streets,” Sapnap informed, peeking out of the alleyway. “We’ll need to sneak out the back of the city, the same way we came in, Dream.”

Dream nodded, turning to the Sky Army trio. “Mind if you follow our lead?”

Sky waved his hand. “Lead away, Dream.”


	11. They look so pretty when they bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Internal Bleeding  
> Character: The Nightmare
> 
> Once again, the Nightmare pushes himself a bit too far. Well done, mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, if you haven't read any of my Wattpad stories, you'll have no idea who this Nightmare dude is. Basically, he's an OC of mine, rather similar to Entity/Herobrine in abilities and cryptid-ness and he's also very snarky and self-confident. We'll be back to some Team Crafted MCYT tomorrow :3
> 
> If you do know me from Wattpad and know who the Nightmare is... then enjoy this little glimpse into his life.

The Nightmare easily stalked the sulking spy who ran through the forest, hunched nearly double as if that would stop her from being spotted, which was stupid really as it only made her more noticable. The Nightmare, of course, made no such mistake as he drifted from shadow to shadow, staying out of view of the spy but keeping her in his view. He smoothly stepped behind a tree, waiting out of sight as he heard her stop and no doubt spin around, looking behind her for followers, her eyes completely skipping over the tree that held perhaps the most dangerous killer of all.

The Nightmare smiled under his cowl. It was a nice title to be known by.

He waited until he heard her footsteps continue and then he waited a little more before venturing out, once again picking up her trail. He had been following her for over a day now, after spending nearly two trying to track her down. He needed to know where she went, who her superiors were, what their motives were and where their base was located. He knew they were close as the spy’s speed picked up and she ran a little more upright, her shoulders beginning to relax. The homestretch was the best place to commit a nice small murder but that wasn’t the Nightmare’s goal today.

His hand reached out to touch the rough bark of a tree as he paused, allowing her to gain more distance, his eyes watchful and attentive, his breaths small and even. Without warning, his chest suddenly constricted, pinching painfully enough for him to flinch and grit his teeth, his eyes watering, their edges creasing in concern under the shadow of his hood.  _ Not now, not now _ , he found himself chanting: he couldn’t afford to have this now, not when he was so close to finding out where her base was, not when this was  _ so important _ .

Pain stabbed through his chest again and he jerked reflexively, tasting metal in his mouth as liquid surged up through his throat, suddenly unable to breathe. He mumbled a swear, swallowing down the taste and deliberately sucking in oxygen. Carefully, silently, he forced himself to turn away from the tree and move swiftly back the way he had come, treading lightly on the undergrowth. He kept his breathing slow and deliberate but his chest screamed out as fire erupted in it. His body jerked, a fit of coughs shaking him, his legs stumbling as blood flecked from his mouth, some drops flying out and landing on the dull green grass despite his arm flying up to cover his face. He lurched a tree, his shoulder hitting it sharply and drawing a pained hiss from him.

Heedless of being found, he sprinted away from the spy and crashed through the forest and trees as he ran, his breathing ragged. “ _ Idiot _ ,” he swore to himself. “Three day limit, I  _ knew _ this, why did I-” Another fit of coughing wracked his body and he tripped, collapsing into a tree as a sob was involuntarily ripped from him. His lungs felt like they were collapsing, his heart and body unable to handle the strain, his vision filling with black spots.

He brushed a hand across his mouth, spitting out the blood and gagging at the sensation. No one else would have seen the blood on his hand but the red, staining liquid was easily recognisable to him. He’d been in this form for too long, he  _ knew  _ it took a toll on him but he’d been so caught up in his task that he had ignored the dangers and pushed himself too far  _ again _ .

Still, his mind was stronger than his body and he pushed himself up, forcing his failing legs to run a little further, gaining a little more distance and treading that bit deeper into the forest before his legs fully gave way and he crashed to the forest floor. His hands and knees caught him, his body shaking violently now as he coughed without end, bright red blood dripping from his formless cowl, stark against the green grass. The taste made his stomach surge and he threw up, emptying his whole stomach, vomit mixed with blood, his head spinning from a lack of oxygen. 

He spat, his hands shaking but he frantically raised them and with no one bearing witness, he threw back the hood of his cloak, taking huge, ragged breaths of fresh air, his eyes drifting closed as his head hung, momentary relief flooding him. His skin was slightly tanned- but it didn’t matter what his true appearance was. Blood still ran from his mouth and he coughed again, his hands reaching up and fumbling with the clasps of the cloak around his neck, unshed tears burning his tightly shut eyes. He pulled and tugged and finally, the clasped opened and he ripped off the black garment, casting it aside and revealing the mostly-ordinary clothes underneath. 

Deep breaths of air ran through their lungs and their shaking body finally collapsed, narrowly avoiding the pool of blood and vomit before them as they crashed to the ground. For several long minutes, they lay there, panting heavily and occasionally coughing up a bit more blood, their eyes mostly closed as they rested. They were awfully vulnerable here but they didn’t fear being found by someone else and even if they  _ did _ fear it, it wasn’t like they had the strength to do anything about the situation. 

Eventually, the eyes flickered open and their hand reached around, fumbling for the cloak in the grass and pulling it closer, half-protecting it and half-hiding it. They wanted to pull it back on and continue the search, to get on with their task, but they knew all too well that pulling that cloak on again and regaining that form would mean death.

Their eyes fluttered shut again. “You idiot,” they breathed to themselves in a sigh. “You should have rested.” The grass wasn’t soft and the dirt was full of rocks but right now, it felt like the softest of beds. Their limbs relaxed, their head falling back as a sigh escaped their lips. “A few hours rest. Then I’ll go back. Just a few hours’ sleep.”


	12. Psych 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crying  
> Characters: Team Crafted
> 
> The squid king knows something about Ty, and he takes great pleasure in recounting every aspect of it to his horrified friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning for this one is mental manipulation and a recount of torture! Because it's the squid king and I couldn't help myself.

He may have been in chains, but Adam was certain that the Squid King had never before looked so smug. It was as if he had won simply by being secured at his wrists and ankles, marched down the main street of the Sky Army base and being forced to kneel before the eight Generals. It made Adam uncomfortable, to say the least.

Even so, everyone was on guard, from those stationed upon the walls and at the castle entrances to the off-duty recruits walking around the base. As instructed, everyone gave the main square a wide berth and even those recruits who had marched up the Squid King stepped back once the prisoner was kneeling. All eight of the generals were armed, and with General Mitch, General Jerome  _ and _ General Seto all in close proximity, none of the recruits were too worried about one of them getting hurt.

Only later did they realise just how wrong they had been.

The Squid King was grinning up at them,  _ smirking _ despite having to raise his chin to look at the faces of the eight Generals, most of whom had their arms crossed over their chest, though Ty looked like he might have been hugging himself. The wind  _ was _ a touch cold and he was only wearing a t-shirt. 

“Generals,” the Squid King started to say, “so nice to see you all-”

“You don’t get to speak!” Mitch snapped, his hand dropping to his sword as he took a threatening step forward. Jerome’s hand quietly went to his arm, the gentle grip stilling him as Adam held out a hand, motioning for him to be still. The Squid King only smiled like he had accomplished a victory in this.

“I think we can both agree that we would be fully justified to throw you straight into the cells with no questions asked,” Adam said, his voice as flat as his eyes which were fixed on the Squid King. “The only reason why we haven’t is because you requested this meeting and we thought it might be amusing to entertain your crude words for a little while. So speak before we change our mind.”

“Well spoken, General Adam, as always.” The Squid King shifted as if intending to get himself into a more comfortable position but no such thing was necessary. “In fact, I’m rather surprised that you didn’t just have me killed on the spot, given what happened last time.”

“Last time?” Quentin muttered with a frown. “Which one?”

Jerome likewise was casting his furrowed eyebrows towards the Squid King. “Last time, you tried to have your archers fire at our walls but your bows weren’t powerful enough so you went home with your tail between your legs. If you’re trying to boast, that’s hardly a good moment to pick.”

“No,” Adam corrected quietly but firmly. “Last time was when he captured Ty and I. Although,” and here he cast his gaze back towards the kneeling man, “I escaped within the hour and you didn’t even have Ty for a full three days. I’d hardly call that one of your best moments.”

The Squid King tilted his head, his eyes moving around the eight Generals, his smile dropping. “I would be inclined to disagree, given what…” His words trailed off as his gaze landed on General Ty, who had not  _ once _ looked in the direction of the Squid King, and that smile slowly came back into full force, somehow full of delight now. “Oh, you never  _ told _ them, did you?”

The Team all frowned, casting confused glances at each other and then at Ty, the only one that the Squid King was trying to catch the eye of. Ty, however, was keeping his head down, his arms folded into his chest and he was shaking slightly, but now it was obvious that it wasn’t from the cold. His breathing was too even and he wasn’t blinking nearly enough for it to be natural.

“Ty?” Adam asked quietly. Jason, standing close to Ty, subtly drifted his hand so that it brushed Ty’s back comfortingly. He felt his friend’s skin prickle at the contact.

The Squid King, however, seemed to have been positively  _ delighted _ at the occurrence. “He didn’t tell you anything, did he?” he asked, his eyes bright with maniac joy. “No wonder you all didn’t instantly seek retribution. Shall I recount it for you, General Ty? Your memory might have failed you, given what happened.”

On the other side of Ty, Adam caught sight of Seto giving small shakes of his head, motioning with his hand across his neck. At first, Adam thought that he might have been motioning to behead the Squid King (which would have been awkward and messy but Jerome probably would have happily obliged with his ever-handy axe) and then he realised that the sorcerer was gesturing for him to stop the Squid King from speaking. But by then, due to Adam’s moment of confusion and then his moment of hesitation, the prisoner had begun talking once again.

“It was going to be simple, just a way to pass the time really, but we found some curious red scar-like circles on General Ty’s back, concentrated around the neck and shoulder blades,” the Squid King said as if he was reciting a case study or a documentary. He never took his eyes off Ty. “Upon closer inspection, we found that they were located at specific pressure points. Activating those pressure points had some… interesting results.”

His sharpened teeth began to show through his smile. “We only activated two at first, but it was enough. General Ty had dropped to the ground, shuddering and gasping and twitching, eyes wide and rolling but he couldn’t get up. In fact, he was that way for nearly a full hour before he regained use of his body. Had anything happened to him in that time, it would have been  _ unfortunate _ . The result of three pressure points was much more interesting.

“I doubt he would have screamed louder even if we’d put burning hot pokers to his feet,” the King sneered. “By that stage we had chained him to the wall but he had thrashed reguardless, screaming bloody murder until his voice was hoarse and tears were streaming down his face. Only twenty minutes had passed that time before he seemed to regain enough control to collapse, gasping and panting and sobbing. Quite pathetic to watch, really.”

Ty hadn’t raised his eyes from the ground but his cheeks were burning with shame, his hands clenched tightly as he kept his arms crossed over his chest as if he was hugging himself. His shoulders were hunched as if he could hide the apparent scars on his back that were already concealed by his shirt. More than one team member desperately wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told them about all this, but the Squid King continued to speak gleefully.

“We gradually increased the number of pressure points, testing different combinations and forces. Some of them made him limp and lifeless, eyes open but completely unable to react to stimulation. Others froze him like a statue while yet others knocked him unconscious right away, and what was  _ very _ curious was that many times, he woke up with seemingly no recollection of where he was.

“But  _ most _ of the pressure points,” (and the Squid King’s smile was nearly ghastly by now), “ _ most _ of them had him screaming and begging for mercy. Most of them had him falling, held up only by the chains on his wrists, crying and sobbing and gasping for breath, his body flinching and jerking as if he was being flogged by razor-sharp whips, and he was screaming enough for it too. We learnt  _ lots _ of things about General Ty in those three short days. And we found that he didn’t just respond this way to pressure points. He responded to  _ words _ as well.”

By now, Ty’s quivering was easily visible, as were his gasps for breath and the rapid rising and falling of his chest. His head was still turned to the ground but his eyes were wide and flicking rapidly like a cornered animal. With his hands tucked into his arms, it was clear that he was on the defensive. It was clear that he was panicking.

“Would you like me to repeat the words, General Ty?” the Squid King said in what was nearly a purr. “I have them all memorised-”

“Enough,” Adam snapped, his hand flicking out in a sharp gesture. “Take him away, lock him in the cells. I don’t want to hear another damn word out of his disgusting, lying mouth.”

“Why  _ else  _ wouldn’t he tell you about all this?” the Squid King asked rapidly as the same recruits from before stepped forward, their expressions hard and grim. “What reason would he have to keep this a secret unless I was telling the truth?” His voice was turning into laughter as he was pulled up. “Do you want to know how he reacted to the words? Do you want to know what the words are? The words that can  _ control _ him?”

“Enough!” Adam snapped again, his voice furious. “Take him before he dies here and now!”

The Squid King struggled as he was dragged away, but only enough to turn back, watching the Generals, half of whom had gathered closer around the shaking one, starting to console him, and the other half who were watching him with eyes that promised death. The Squid King, however, didn’t fear death.

“General Ty!” he shouted, his voice carrying. “Mamberdo!”

The word had the exact effect he wanted. Being surrounded by his friends didn’t matter anymore as Ty’s head was thrown back, screams ripping his voice as he jerked and fell to the ground, thrashing and rolling, his hands grasping at his throat like he was trying to claw away at invisible hands strangling him. Or like he was trying to strangle himself.

“Ty!” Adam yelled, dropping to his side in an instant. Ty’s eyes were screwed up tight, tears running from them and his legs thrashing as his screams became more hoarse and his cheeks slowly turned purple. Adam wrestled with his arms, heaving Ty’s hands from his throat. “Quentin! Seto!”

“Already here,” Quentin said, ever calm. “Jerome, hold his hands, Adam and Mitch, pin him down, keep him still.”

Jerome took Adam’s place, forcing Ty’s hands away from his throat as Adam and Mitch threw themselves across Ty’s body, stilling his thrashing. Quentin and Seto spoke in low murmurs, the doctor feeling Ty’s pulse while the General struggled and screamed, his eyes still shut. He gave a nod and Seto rested his hands on either side of Ty’s head, his eyes fluttering closed. Adam felt his eyes prickle and he shut them, looking away.  _ Please be okay, Ty, please, please, please _ .

Ty suddenly shuddered, his screams interrupted by a gasp for breath and his body started to shake, tears running freely down his cheeks as he sobbed between gasps, Seto’s hands slowly leaving his head. His arms, still held in Jerome’s firm grip, fell limp and he hid his face in the ground when Quentin rolled him over, shielding him somewhat from the recruits as Jerome and Mitch backed off, creating more of a shield as Adam shuffled closer, whispering words of comfort to his friend.

Quietly, Ian stepped over to a senior recruit who was watching. “No matter what happens,” he murmured in a low voice, “do  _ not _ let  _ any _ of the Generals go to the Squid King’s cell. Use force to stop them if you have to. If they have a problem with it, send them to me and I’ll deal with it.”

“Yes General Ian,” the recruit said, bowing and swallowing as his eyes flicked to the huddle, and running off into the castle.


	13. I think I've broken something...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Broken bones, broken trust  
> Characters: Dream, Technoblade
> 
> An accidental murder in front of a crowd leaves Dream on the run, but Techno's here to make sure he won't run far.

It turns out that Dream  _ didn’t _ know who his friends were. He thought he’d known, thought he could assess the danger someone posed to him, thought he could tell when someone was lying to him. Turns out he was wrong. Very,  _ very _ wrong.

Low tree branches flicked and spat at his face, adding to the fresh scratches on what had been a pure white mask before he’d been attacked. He had reacted on instinct, his sword already moving before he had realised who had attacked him, and now, with George’s blood flecked over his mask and clothes and on the sword he had left behind, he felt like he couldn’t try to blame it on an accident. Nor could he hope to understand whether George had been intending to kill him when he’d jumped or whether Dream had just misinterpreted in the heat of the moment. He wasn’t sure if that would make it better or worse.

The ground sloped steeply beneath him and he stumbled, tripped, and slammed into a tree before he regained his footing and kept running, refusing to cast a glance behind him. His murder, no matter how accidental, had ignited a sudden fury in the crowd and now the people he thought would always stand beside him or at  _ least _ listen to him were crying for his blood and for his head. He hadn’t bothered to try and calm them and explain or get an explanation himself. He knew what the bloodlust of a crowd could do. For all he knew, he’d been set-up this whole time.

He heard the telltale  _ crack _ of crossbow limbs moving and couldn’t react in time to dodge. The bolt ripped through the air just behind his neck, catching his hoodie, the force of it tugging him the few steps to where the bolt slammed into a tree, pinning his hoodie with it. The neck of the garment was tight around his throat and he could already feel the beginning urges to gasp for breath. He tried to tug the bolt free or rip his hoodie but the crossbow cracked again and a second bolt pierced the fleshy inside of his right wrist, pinning that to the tree too as Dream gave a short scream of pain, quickly cut off.

Out of the shadows of the trees stepped a familiar figure in a royal gown lined with fur that was still somehow white. His long pink hair was braided down his back as he casually loaded a firework rocket into his crossbow, squinting down its length and slinging it over his back. He took in the pinned, masked warrior, his lips morphed strangely to accommodate for the small tusks protruding from his teeth. 

“Hello, Dream,” that monotone voice said.

“Techno,” Dream puffed, his chest heaving with gasps after his bout of running and now having his breathing restrained. He didn’t bother asking if Techno would let him go. Techno had been one of the first to chase him.

“Where are you running to?” the part-piglin asked.

Dream didn’t answer as he tried to relieve some of the pressure on his throat. Techno seemed disappointed if the huff he gave was anything to go by.

“You know, I’m probably supposed to bring you in for a trial or something,” the robed warrior said. He followed it up with a shrug. “But anarchy, you know. Rebel against the government. So I’ll let you free if you promise to fight me to the death. You’re gonna die anyway, so…”

“Alright,” Dream puffed.

He had no intention of fighting Techno, at least not in the long run. But he could run and he could cross terrain better than Techno could; all he needed was a moment to get free. He was still as the other came over and wiggled the crossbow bolt first from his jumper (to which Dream gave a huge sigh of relief followed by a deep breath) and then worked on the bolt in his wrist.

“You can fight with your left hand, right?” Techno asked doubtfully.

“When I have to,” Dream puffed, grimacing behind his mask as Techno snapped the bolt to get it out, freeing the wrist.

“Good.”

Techno stamped on his foot and in the same moment roughly kicked his lower leg and Dream didn’t know  _ how _ , but another scream was ripped from him as he felt the bone of his lower leg snap, fire burning. He hobbled away from the hybrid and dropped to the ground, gasping and suppressing the screams that rattled around his chest and bubbled in his throat.

“What the  _ hell _ ?” he choked out, glancing down at his lower leg that was at an unnatural angle and looking away before he could throw up. “I thought you wanted to fight!?”

“I never said I wanted a fair fight,” Techno said flatly. “Now you can’t run like you always do.”

“You’re an arsehole, Techno,” Dream snarled, blinking away the instinctive tears of pain.

“And that’s coming from  _ you _ ?” the hybrid asked. “It takes one to know one, Dream.”

“Shut up,” Dream gasped, forcing himself to stand hoping on his one good leg, only letting the other graze the ground. If he was going to die, he  _ refused _ to let it be while he sat on the dirt. He wasn’t sure how close his pursuit was but he wouldn’t show weakness like this. “Are you going to give me a weapon, or are you going to snatch that from me too?”

Techno gave a small snort, his snout twitching with the noise and he reached his hand behind him. From under his cloak, he withdrew his huge, single bladed axe, the sharpened edge catching the light as he tossed it to Dream’s feet. The masked man looked down at the weapon and then up at Techno, his mouth gaping open.

“Are you  _ serious _ ?” he asked incredulously. There was no  _ way _ he could fight with an axe in his current state. 

“You wanted a weapon,” Techno told him flatly, drawing the long sword from his side. “You didn’t say what type.”

Dream grit his teeth, furious with himself and with Techno, but mostly with Techno. He bent down, his bad leg splayed oddly to the side, his eyes locked on Techno and his fingers scrabbling in the dirt until they wrapped around the smooth handle of the axe, lifting it up. His wariness saved him in the end as Techno leapt forward the instant Dream grasped the weapon. The masked man lurched to the side opposite to the sword, giving a cry as he accidentally put weight on his bad leg. He retreated rapidly, breathing hard, taking in his options.

An axe was the  _ worst _ weapon he could have. It was heavy, it was unwieldy, and he only had one hand and one leg to use properly. He could feel that his grip was weak in his right hand as he hefted the handle up, using his lower arm to support the large head. After his stumble, he knew he could put hardly any weight on his snapped leg, which put out basically every option he had.

Techno didn’t seem in mind. In fact, Techno seemed to be rather pleased with it all as his lips curved around his protruding tusks. Dream snarled, gritting his teeth together. He might lose to the hybrid, but he was going to take Techno down with him.

With limited ability to move, Dream had to wait for the hybrid to strike, and the other was all too happy to comply. Techno came at him fast and swift and Dream had to spin in place as best as he could, swaying to the side and using the butt of the axe handle to block. His swings were overreached and underpowered and they threw him off balance, giving Techno a golden opportunity each time that the man never hesitated to take, his blade always brushing Dream’s skin, slicing through his hoodie, drawing small bits of blood at a time as if he was intending to slowly slice Dream apart.

He wished Techno would stop  _ teasing _ him like this! A swift death would be fine but feeling like a cornered rabbit that was being toyed with by a wolf made him feel sick. He fought back as best as he could, hissing away the stinging of his cuts, his eyes flicking wildly to the crowd that encircled them- wait,  _ crowd _ ?

A heavy grunt escaped him as he shoved Techno back, retreating a hop, his masked face turning to take in the thick ring of people surrounding them. Their voices were strangely muffled to him, their faces a strange blur of colours that were all too bright, but he saw Sapnap (his friend, they’d been friends for years, years), he saw Punz (Punz was always loyal to him, they had always gotten on), Tommy (the boy had never liked him but at least they’d agreed to stay out of each other’s way), Ant (the cat hybrid had always been so timid but his small fangs were bared now), Niki (had she been one of the first to call for justice? He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t remember). Their faces were twisted, their voices screaming for blood, and Dream felt like his heart had just been ripped from his chest, the last traces of hope and trust fading from his being.

He looked back to his enemy just in time to raise his axe to block the downward stroke, instinctively stepping back and letting out a cry as his leg collapsed under him. He nearly lost balance but he managed to hop on his good leg, unable to stop his whimper as Techno’s blade slashed up his chest. 

There was nothing left for him. There was nothing else to do.

Dream picked up the axe, holding it in both hands and swallowing down the pain as his damaged wrist shrieked. He put both his legs down solidly, wincing and feeling tears in his eyes as his broken bones burned. And he attacked. And he swung. And he launched himself forward with cries of defiance and cries of pain. The crowd surged forward as blows rained but not once did Dream hear his name. It was only Techno, only Techno, never Dream, no one for Dream-

The razor sharp blade of the hybrid slice clean past his defence as if it was child’s play. Dream gasped as he felt it easily slide right through his chest, all the way up to the hilt. His axe dropped from his grip and dimly, faintly, he heard people cheering and he knew they were cheering for his death. He coughed, liquid on his lips, the sword withdrawing from his chest and slashing again at his neck and he couldn’t hear the scream that was ripped from him. He knew he had fallen when he felt the grass under his hands and his body lying on the dirt. He knew Techno was standing over him, sword in hand.

_ Get up Dream, get up, get up Dream. _

He got up.

He forced his quivering legs to obey, forced his broken body and shattered soul to rise to the challenge once more.

_ Up Dream, get up. _

He got up. One knee. Then two.

Then Techno severed his head from his body, and the crowd descended like a pack of hungry wolves.


	14. Breathe in, breathe out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Oxygen Mask  
> Characters: Jason, Ty
> 
> An explosion in the alchemy building leaves Jason badly injured and Seto in a critical condition, and Ty doesn't know how much more of this he can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this one is a mental breakdown! I'm so sorry, Ty.

He wasn’t sure what had happened. He was just… doing whatever it was he was doing and then something had shuddered and there had been this noise and this pain throughout his body and his head and behind his eyes, and every breath burned his lungs and made a thousand splinters shoot through his chest.

Light burned at his eyes and he would have whimpered if he had the strength or the presence of mind to. There was something on his face, something that rimmed his nose and mouth, that pushed air into his lungs at a painful rate, only making the burning worse or maybe that was because he was slowly waking up, slowly rising to consciousness, his eyes flickering open despite the light.

The world was a blur that he could hardly see and could comprehend even less of. It jolted and swayed as if it was moving or he was moving. A head of someone came into his vision, looking down at him and blurring sounds echoed through his ears, demanding some attention and urgency but he couldn’t hope to decipher it. His head swayed as his body was jolted and his eyes flickered shut, the sounds and sights dimming.

The emergency room was in turmoil, recruits crowding the sides and allowing the stream of medics to sprint through the space, speaking in loud, harried voices as they carried two stretchers through the room. The first one went through in an instant, General Quentin accompanying them with his expression grave, the person lying on it burnt and covered in ash, his head lolling and his eyes closed, a mask forcing air into his lungs. The second stretcher went through slightly slower, the supervising medic talking to the man who lay on it who didn’t speak much but rather listening with his eyes half closed, his breaths misting the clear mask strapped to his face.

Ty was on the verge of pulling out his carefully swept hair as he burst into the huge hospital building, its size a testament to its frequent use in the Sky Army. Perhaps even more concerning than its size was the entire corridor of rooms that had been designated to only cater for the Generals themselves, which meant that Ty had no problems locating the correct room and bursting inside only a little less vigorously.

The only sounds in the room were the light, constant beeping of a heart-rate monitor and the steady whooshing of the machine that was supplying constant oxygen to the man lying on the bed. His head turned at the sudden entrance, his soft smile visible even through the mask.

“I expected you five minutes ago,” came his voice, rasping and muffled by the mask.

It was all Ty could do to not  _ lose his freaking mind _ but he managed to hold himself together as he walked over to the bed, his quiet footsteps obnoxiously loud in the morbid silence of the room. The chair creaked as he drew it closer to the edge of the bed and sat down, the tips of his fingers resting against his lips as he beheld the burned and tired man who lay in front of him, his face still turned towards him and a faint smile playing on his lips.

“What the  _ hell _ happened, Jason?” Ty asked quietly.

The eyes of the injured man flickered closed and a sigh came through his oxygen mask, pain flicking across it as he shifted. “It all just happened so fast. I was hanging out with Seto in the alchemy building, he was doing his potions, I was studying star charts, then he shouted and everything just exploded…”

“Seto’s potions exploded?” Ty asked, stress showing through easily on his face but Jason wasn’t looking at him anymore, his strained eyes squinting at the ceiling as he shook his head. 

“No, no there…” Jason’s words faltered as he recalled those fleeting moments. “There was a ticking, Seto noticed it before I did. His potion was hardly simmering, it was coming from the corner near him. He realised what it was before I did but it had already exploded by then.” He turned his gaze back to his friend, seeing how the pale hands ran through the long hair. “Do you know what it was?”

Ty’s sigh was shallow, his hands buried in his hair. “At first, I thought it was just one of Seto’s potions going badly haywire but surely no potion could cause that much damage, and now it’s sounding more like a bomb that was planted to look like a horrible accident.”

The oxygen machine whooshed slightly louder as Jason sucked in more air. “H-How bad was it?”

“The entire building and everything in it was destroyed,” came Ty’s flat voice. “The star charts, the main potion stockpile, all of our magical records, everything we kept in there is gone. We’re damn lucky you and Seto weren’t killed instantly.”

Jason shifted, trying to push himself up on his elbows but he gave up quickly. “How’s Seto?”

Ty was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “The docs told me that you were going to be fine after a few days of recovery. They’re…. They’re not sure about Seto. He was a lot closer to the source than you were and even after the surgery, they’re… they’re just not sure. He hasn’t been stabilised yet. Quentin’s worried.”

A breathed swear came from the other and Ty looked up to see Jason closing his eyes, squeezing away the tears. He opened them and Ty saw them shining as their eyes met. “What are you going to do?”

Ty shook his head, his eyes dropping away. “I don’t know.”

“ _ Don’t know _ ?” Jason repeated incredulously, his words steaming up the oxygen mask. “Ty, you  _ have _ to know! You’re in charge now! Sky’s in the room just down there, still in that coma and he might  _ never _ be waking up. He’s been in there for three  _ months _ , Ty, and even if he does wake up by some miracle, he won’t be the same-”

“I know, I know!” Ty snapped, his hair swishing as his head flicked up, tears escaping his eyes. “I was in the room with you when we all heard it, Jason! If he does wake up, he’ll have severe brain damage and might not even be able to  _ recognise _ us, much less run an army! So it’s my job now, but I  _ never _ signed up for this, I never wanted to lead an army-  _ heck _ , I never even wanted to be General! The only reason I agreed was because Sky begged me to and-”

The tension building in Ty rose to a peak and he shoved himself out of the seat, pacing around the room taking shallow breaths, his hands on his head and his eyes looking anywhere but at his friend. He couldn’t do this anymore, he couldn’t do this anymore, he  _ couldn’t _ . He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t handle  _ any _ of this, he- he- he was going to fail, he was going to fail, he was going to. 

Jason watched him pace, his gaze neutral and then becoming concerned. “Ty,” he said, his voice suddenly warning, “don’t go back to that place.”

“You can’t stop me,” Ty hissed, his hair shielding his eyes, his mind spiralling.

“Ty,  _ no _ .” Jason grunted as he forced himself to sit up, his breaths turning to gasps and the heart rate monitor beating a little faster. “Don’t go back,  _ please _ . We’ve already basically lost Sky, we might be losing Seto, we can’t lose you too. Each of us is important Ty, and you’re no exception. Just because you have to make the final decision doesn’t mean you have to carry that weight alone, that’s something that we’ve all - you included - told Sky a thousand times, and it’s the same for you. You’re not expected to do this alone, and you’re not expected to try and deal with all the emotions on your own either. But going back to that place is  _ not _ the way to handle this situation.”

Ty’s palm was pressing against his uncovered eye, his voice breaking and filling with tears. “I just don’t want to  _ be _ here anymore, Jason. I never wanted this, I never asked for this, and Sky was the main reason why I could at least  _ try _ to deal with all these thoughts and now there’s the chance that he’ll just never wake up and we-  _ I’ll _ have to make the call to let him die!”

Jason held out his arms and, sobbing, Ty clambered onto the bed and huddled close to him, ashamed of his tears but Jason didn’t seem to mind. He hugged his friend close, the oxygen mask forcing air into his lungs as he gently quietened his friend as Ty tried to remember what it felt like to breathe properly. 

“That’s never a call you’ll have to make alone, Ty, if at all,” he assured him quietly as Ty’s breaths slowed. “Sky’s strong, and he’s stubborn, and Seto’s just as strong and even  _ more _ stubborn. If there’s any way for them to cheat death then they’ll take it. And if there’s not, then they’ll make a way. We just have to hold onto hope.”


	15. Is something burning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Branding, fire  
> Character: SkyDoesMinecraft
> 
> The squid king does his worst to Adam. It doesn't go as well as he might have hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of day 1! (Chapter 2: Let's hang out some time if you want a quick refresher).

The only benefit of the room being sweltering hot was that Adam found out that extreme heats were not a weakness of the squid hybrids. Other than that, there was nothing good about it. Fire burned in a ring around the edges of the room, the soot of the flames scarring the wall and the vents along the roof only served to whisk away most of the smoke and did little about the heat. Adam’s shirt had been taken from him but sweat ran thickly down his back anyway, his dripping hair plastered to his face as he panted in the heat. The squids could at least take breaks and leave for a cooler room. Adam had been given no such respite. 

He was chained with hot, sweaty metal cuffs that dragged his arms around a warm stone block, locking into the floor. His chin was forced to rest on the top of the stone and his knees were positioned under him, sitting on his legs which were also chained down tightly. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable position possible and for that he was glad, even if the muscles in his back were strained from his arms being constantly pulled.

A blast of cool air hit his back like the cool change on a hot summer day and he  _ instantly _ felt relief and then felt worse as the heat soaked over him. He heard voices mumbling quietly behind him and his exposed skin prickled, the faded Warrior tattoo on his arm on full display. It was difficult to breathe in the heat and even harder to breathe steadily when all his secret fears about what they’d do to him came crashing back. Finally, the mumbles stopped and he heard footsteps approaching him. 

“You’re looking rather uncomfortable there, General Adam,” came the voice of the squid king.

“I’d feel much better if you let me out of this oven for a couple of minutes,” Adam snarled back, failing to flick his wet strands out of his eyes as he tried to look over his shoulder to see the squid. He couldn’t catch a glimpse and he huffed, putting back down his chin.

“Hm, well we’ll have to let you out when you begin to suffocate in the heat, but you can last a while longer.” 

Adam resisted the urge to scoff as the hybrid came into his vision, walking and kneeling before him. The flat, murky blue eyes met the warm, bright brown ones, and the king couldn’t  _ wait  _ to see the rebellious flame in them die. “We would like to know about your training as a Brine Warrior, Adam,” he said smoothly.

“It’s  _ General _ Adam to you, squid,” the prisoner spat.

The hybrid flicked a tentacle to still his men who had surged behind the chained man. His gaze was cold as he regarded the human. “I will ask again, Adam.”

“And I’ll tell you to take your stupid request to someone who will care.”

The hybrid’s jaw clenched. “Do you know what it feels like to be branded,  _ General _ Adam?”

Despite the snarl on his face, a tiny glimmer of fear flickered in Adam’s eyes and a slow, considerate smile came on the king’s face. He kept his eyes on the General but in his peripheral, he saw his men lifting a carefully bent piece of metal from one of the burning braziers, the grey metal glowing red. Adam felt a sudden, intense heat against the bare skin of his back and he barely had time to grit his teeth before he felt it being pushed onto his skin and he screamed, automatically trying to thrash away but his bonds held him tight. The smell of smoking, burning flesh filled the stinking heat of the room, the pain going right down to Adam’s bones and spine as the brand was held there for several long, agonising seconds.

The worst sensation was feeling his skin come away as the brand was lifted and Adam let out a panting gasp of relief, tears steaming up his eyes at the heat, his sweaty head hanging. He couldn’t see what they had just done to his back but he could feel it, could feel the crawling, twisting pain that resonated deep into his tissues. 

“Thinking of reevaluating your decision, Adam?”

Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, Adam gave a low, dark chuckle. “If you want to get me to talk, you’re going to have to try a whole lot harder,” he growled. “I know pain more intimately than you could ever comprehend. I know all the techniques, I know their impact, I know how the body can be used to break the mind, I know the deep inner workings of each fragment of pain. Do your worst to me, squid king. When I leave, you’ll be no better off than you were when I came.”

The hybrid didn’t doubt him. But even when his back was littered with the smouldering scars of the red-hot brand, Adam still didn’t break. Even when his eye was slashed from its socket, he didn’t break. Even when whips were added to his ripped back, he didn’t break. Even when he was suffocating in the heat of the room and was limpy dragged out and immediately dunked into ice cold water that shocked his system into paralysement, he didn’t break. And the king started to wonder who these Brine Warriors really were.


	16. Into the Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Magical Healing  
> Character: Tubbo
> 
> After escaping from the collapsing building, Tubbo ran into the woods but as the night grew closer, he became more lost and hunted by the creatures of the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation from day 4, featuring Tubbo! Once again Tubbo, I am sorry, but I promise, happy endings. Maybe.

_ Tubbo took one look at the sinkhole behind him before he forced himself up and stumbled away, still coughing, bent over, his arm wrapped around his bleeding stomach with blood running down his legs. _

* * *

In his initial panic, Tubbo had gotten lost. And now, as night fell and he felt dead eyes watching him, he was desperately trying to find some form of shelter. His legs ached from his incessant running, his lungs on fire from the dust and his heavy, exerted breathing. His stomach was aching and he felt like throwing up with every breath. Finally, he had to pause from his running, heaving in huge, jagged breaths, wincing as he took his arm away from his stomach. His blood that ran from the cut had dried and the scab peeled away with the movement, fresh blood flowing again. In the darkness he couldn’t hope to see how bad the wound was but it sure felt like it went down to his bones.

A low groan echoed from somewhere, followed by the distorted warbling of a creature that was much closer. Tubbo didn’t dare to look up and he trod carefully, wincing with each step. He saw the long black legs of the enderman as he passed, head down, taking care to step away and around it. The tall being let him pass without confrontation, warbling and glitching in a peaceful, nearly concerning manner, and its long legs took it away. But heavier, clumsier footsteps crunched and one groan came, then another, then the clinking of bones and Tubbo knew those sounds well enough to  _ run _ .

And so once again, he was running through a tangled forest he didn’t recognise, head spinning and feet stumbling. A cacophony of sounds resonated painfully loud in his ears but the loudest was his own scream as he felt something slam into his upper arm, piercing the skin. He stumbled, tripping over a root and slammed into the ground with a grunt. His movements were panicked as Tubbo pushed himself up, his breath coming in gasps and pants, the screaming in his arm joining that in his legs and his stomach. 

A heavy weight lurched into him, the stink of rotting flesh filling his nose as a mouth with blackened teeth filled his vision. With a shout, he flung his arm, hitting the face of the zombie and casting it away, into the path of the second arrow that would have hit Tubbo’s head. He could see more monsters in the darkness and he had to run again, had to push himself further, had to force himself onwards.

He swore that the forest grew thicker the further he went on and he swore that the sounds he was hearing was the result of groans and rattles and hisses and other calls echoing and reverberating off the trees but he couldn’t be sure. It seemed he was surrounded like he’d never been surrounded before, hemmed in on all sides by vicious monsters hunting him down, smelling his fresh blood. 

It was only when he knew from the trembling of his legs that he was about to collapse and not get up did he stumble into the safety of a tree, collapsing into the thicket of roots and fallen branches and leaves at its base. The position of a few large branches had made it into a sort of hollow that thankfully hadn’t been taken up as a monster’s residence and Tubbo dropped into it, pulling himself as small as he could and gasping in breaths of cold night air. 

With trembling hands, he checked himself over, lightly touching the arrow wound in his arm, the cut on his stomach, the various scratches and abrasions across his face and arms from where he ran, and the dozens and dozens of bruises and cuts and marks on his legs from the collapsing building. He felt blood on his fingertips as he grazed them on his skin, catching his breath.

“Okay Tubbo, okay,” he whispered to himself, glancing around fearfully as a new wave of calls sounded. “First thing… arrow. Get the arrow out, bind the wound.”

Obediently, he managed to rip the hem of his shirt away, wincing at the noise it made. He gripped the shaft of the arrow, biting his lip and preparing himself for how much this would hurt but he still gave an involuntary cry as he pulled at it, tears springing to his eyes. In his first tug, he’d only managed to pull the head out halfway and a whimper escaped his trembling lips, pulling at it another time with a sob and it came free. His arm burned and twisted with pain and he could hardly bind it with only one arm in the dark and with slick blood running from it, but he used his teeth and did his best and it felt a bit better by the end of it. 

“Okay Tubbo, okay, second thing, chest. Bind that one.”

This was tricker, as he had to rip two seconds from his shirt and tie them together before it was long enough to properly go around his stomach wound twice, and he fumbled with the knot and knew that his job had been tacky, but at least it would stem the blood flow. The metallic tang of the red liquid filled his nose and he knew it would lure monsters here too. He didn’t have much time.

“Okay, good job Tubbo.” He felt the need to give himself  _ some _ sort of praise for managing to do all this in the dark, lost and alone as he was. “Next thing, legs.”

The cuts on his legs were insignificant on their own but his bones ached from where the stones and rocks had clashed against them and he knew he had to run for more of the night. Simply wrapping cloth around them wasn’t going to help, and his shirt was already much shorter than what he was comfortable with. That left another option, an option he had hardly used in his life but if it was going to be any time, it might as well be now.

He hovered his hands over his legs, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The night around him lit up a soft blue as his eyes glowed, followed a second later by his hands. The soft, misty magic wrapped around his leg, sinking into the skin and highlighting the bone and muscles within (creepy), both shifting and flashing as they were healed. Starting from his ankle, he slowly moved his hands up his leg, feeling it warm up but comfortably so as he was healed.

The moment he’d reached his knee, he swapped to the other leg, repeating the same process but more frantically. The glow of his magic was noticeable in the darkness and the cries of the monsters were coming closer and more frequently. If he was caught in this hovel, he doubted he was getting out alive. He urged his magic to hurry as he moved his hands faster, the cries growing louder and louder until finally, he could take it no more and he abandoned his leg half-healed, bursting from his shelter and taking off running again.

It was more bearable this time, the fast movements no longer sending bolts of pain up his legs and he silently praised himself for thinking to use his magic because he needed the agility. Monsters were more frequent in these tangled woods, figures lurching towards him in the darkness and arrows screaming through the air and hisses filling his ears. Often, he had to skid to a stop and backtrack as his way became blocked by vegetation or by monsters. 

Once - the first of many times - he frantically looked up and around and caught the gaze of a tall figure with purple eyes. A moment was all it took for him to rip his eyes away but a moment was enough. He heard the enraged screech and a burst of purple flash in front of him as long claws grabbed at his arms, the claws piercing the soft skin, an unhinged jaw screeching in his ears. He gave a shout of fright, the blue of his eyes flashing brighter as he shoved at the figure’s chest with his hands. There wasn’t much of a sound other than that made by the contact but there was a bright flash of light and the figure was thrown backwards, the claws ripping at Tubbo’s skin and shredding his shirt sleeves as it was thrown away. The sudden light drew the attention of all the monsters around and Tubbo ran as if the devils themselves were after him.

And so the night went, full of bright flashes of magic and Tubbo’s panting breaths and the horrible taste and scent of metal in his mouth and in his nose. He stumbled and he lurched and he twisted his ankles once or twice, and he cast monsters away so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed. His head started spinning, his centre of balance abandoning him along with his presence of mind as pain swarmed throughout his body. 

He didn’t notice when he’d left the twisted dark brambles behind and entered a lighter, more sparse forest. He didn’t notice when the deep black sky became a navy blue as dawn approached. In fact, he’d hardly realised when he’d collapsed to the ground, coughing and retching, his body burning from the inside out. His limbs sagged, exhausted, his eyes closing as a dim voice shouting in panic reached his ears.

_ “Tubbo!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more prompt to come for this little storyline.


	17. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Forced to beg  
> Character: Herobrine
> 
> Bringing a proud man to his knees before his worst enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swear words and insults inbound, nothing overly bad, just thought I'd let you all know.

“On your knees.”

Even  _ if _ he had been inclined to follow the growled orders (which he wasn’t), Herobrine wasn’t given the time to respond. The rounded butt of a spear was sharply shoved into the back of his knees, buckling them as his shoulder was pushed and he all but fell to the ground, nearly tipping over and face planting on the tiled floor if one of the warriors behind him hadn’t been so kind as to grab his hair and wrench it backwards.

It was humiliating, really, this position; on his knees, ankles virtually tied to each other, his hands and arms bound far too tightly behind his back (he was already losing sensation in them), his hair caught up in the hands of someone else and forced to meet the sneering eyes of his enemy, but he had been in worst spots. At least, he was pretty sure he had been. Herobrine was struggling to remember them right now. 

His enemy was lounging lazily on a cushioned, wide seat that was fashioned like a throne but reclined like a couch, his hand on the armrest and propping up his chin. Finely made clothes of a off-white fabric covered his charcoal grey body, from his ankles all the way to the flaring cuffs at his wrists, the collar coming high up his neck. His smirk was easily apparent as his red eyes cruised over Herobrine with his head wrenched back, arms pinned behind him, eyes furious and hard but he was far from intimidating when he was on his knees surrounded by common soldiers holding weapons to his throat and back and chest. 

His voice was husky and he spoke in a language Herobrine didn’t know, the deep red eyes flicking to the soldiers surrounding him. One of the soldiers answered back in kind, and Herobrine  _ tried _ to keep his jaw clenched shut but wisdom was never part of his characteristics so he wasn’t surprised to find himself snarling “If you have something to say about me, then say it so that I can understand,  _ arsehole _ .”

He hardly saw the movement out of the corner of his eyes as one soldier backhanded him, the stinging slap making him gasp and blink the sudden springing of tears from his eyes. The man on the throne didn’t stir, his finger picking at his teeth, his eyebrows flicking up for a moment.

“I think I like you like that,” he said through his teeth, his smirk turning lazy. 

Herobrine surged up, his snarl furious but he was only able to jerk forward an inch before he was pulled and pushed back, the weapons digging further into his skin as warning, the hands restraining him tightening. “ _ Idiot _ ,” he snarled. 

Another backhanded slap across his cheek forced another gasp from him and this time, he felt blood in his mouth. He snarled at the soldier, his teeth bared and his eyes  _ furious _ . Ordinarily, men would cower under his gaze but this one only raised his hand again, his eyes hard with warning. Again, his wisdom failed him and Herobrine only bared his teeth more, earning a third strike across the face.

Throughout it all, the throned man only watched with something akin to laughter on his face. “Oh Herobrine,” he said as if they were friends meeting over a casual dinner. “You never learn, do you?”

The urge to snap something back burned at him but his hot cheek was enough of a deterrent for him to only bare his teeth and keep his jaw locked shut. The red eyes bore into him, taunting him, daring him to make another move, and Herobrine hoped that his enemy could read the thousand threats running through his eyes. 

A small snort of amusement came from the seated man and he lounged even further with a content sigh. His hand waved lazily, though his eyes never left Herobrine. “You know what to do.”

The words were enough of a warning but Herobrine still wasn’t prepared to be wrenched backwards, cast across the floor like a discarded sack of potatoes, his head hitting the tiles with enough force to make his eyes fill with stars and his breath escape him in a gasp, his arms pinned painfully behind him. But he wasn’t given a break as he was instantly pulled back up, a hand entwined in his hair, holding him at an angle and half off the ground. He felt something cut it and suddenly he dropped again. He flicked his head around, a snarl already on his face, seeing a clump of his dark brown hair decorating the polished white tiles.

He flipped onto his back but the movement was used as an opportunity to drive the butt of that spear into his stomach, instantly winding him. He felt something rounded and hard hit his head and then something connected with his stomach and his knee (it buckled, it would have hurt if his head wasn’t spinning), then something connected with his eye and drew a shout. He felt hands roughly pull him up again, a hand once again grabbing the parts of his hair that hadn’t been cut and pull it back, baring his neck. He felt steel pressed to the soft skin of his throat. One of his eyes was half-closed against his will but his other eye was open enough to see the enemy on his throne, his face alight with boyish anticipation for what was about to come.

“Do it,” he said with a smile that grew wide. 

“ _ Fucker _ ,” Herobrine spat.

The blade was drawn across his neck, not enough to kill him or cut his windpipe, but enough to  _ hurt like hell _ . He screamed, head thrown back and feeling his warm blood fly and splatter his clothes and the tiles. He’d hardly had a moment to gasp in a breath before he felt the same knife slash across the inner side of his arms, choking as he felt his veins being ripped apart as the limbs were strained behind his back. His eyes were closed as he tried to regain some semblance of sanity when a hand threw his head forward and he slammed against the ground, coughing and feeling warm blood on his face.

His shirt was ripped from him, hands releasing his arms and then wrapping his wrists and elbows and legs and head, holding them down, the pain in his body flaring brighter at the contact. He felt white-hot lines being carved on his back in what was probably an intricate, carefully cut design, but he couldn’t hope to decipher it as he screamed and gasped and screamed again, tears mixing with blood as the blade of the knife twisted on and on.

It stopped. He wasn’t sure how long it had stopped for when he blinked his good eye open, realising that he could breathe and that there was no new pain coming to his body. He could hardly feel his arms, could hardly feel his throat or his back but he  _ could _ feel his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he lay stomach-down on the red and white floor. 

He became aware of a off-white clad knee on the ground beside him and a charcoal grey face with red eyes analysing him. His enemy was close,  _ so close _ , only a hand-breadth away but Herobrine couldn’t find the strength to make a move. He became aware that the mouth was moving and a voice was buzzing, but it took several terrifying moments for him to be able to understand it.

“Funny, how you’ve been through so much and yet can’t handle deliberately caused pain,” the enemy was musing. His eyes lit up as he saw the flicker of a snarl across the face of the beaten man. “Ah, so you’re finally aware enough to hear, took your time. Do you want to feel that pain again, Herobrine?”

No, no he didn’t, and his chest screamed with fear but he wouldn’t speak. The enemy only smirked.

“I don’t hear any disagreement, Herobrine,” he said in a sing-song voice. “I might just have to hand you over to my men, they’re  _ very _ eager to deal with you.”

His chest burned, it  _ burned _ , his body was on fire and a small sound escaped his lips that he couldn’t hope to understand, but his enemy seemed to know.

“Hm? What was that?” he purred.

“Please,” came the whisper again. 

“I still can’t hear you.” Oh, this was too good to miss. Herobrine, the great legendary man himself, the man who had been so strong only an hour ago, already begging with his body ripped and bloody. The tiles would have to go for a deep clean after this to rid the stain from the white but  _ oh _ , it would be worth it.

“Please,” the broken voice cried. “Please, n-no more, p-please.  _ Please _ . P-Please…”

The enemy hummed, as if indecisive, though he’d already made up his mind. “Well, alright,” he said after a long, agonising minute. “I suppose you’ve had enough for today.”

His men moved forward at his curt gesture and the battered body of Herobrine was picked up and carried away to the cells they had prepared for him. The enemy had already arranged a medic to be waiting there; he couldn’t afford to have Herobrine die of blood loss or shock. No. No, he had a much better plan. The next few weeks would be  _ lots _ of fun. He’d break Herobrine down, rip him apart until there was nothing left of the man, and then he’d put him back together until he was whole but fragile, a plaything of his enemy’s, standing to the right of the throne or perhaps as a silent sentry against the wall of the room, ready to obey his every word and order lest he be destroyed again.  _ That _ would assert his place in the world for good. He’d be feared as the entity to whom even Herobrine bent his knee in obedience.


	18. I did not see that coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blackmail, dirty secret  
> Characters: Technoblade, Dream
> 
> Technoblade's execution is gatecrashed by none other than the speedrunner Dream, but that's not the only thing that gets gatecrashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from day 3! (Wow, all the continuations)  
> Additional warnings is execution by hanging and beheading, and Technoblade being sassy.

If Techno had to rate this kidnapping and execution, he’d give it a solid 2/10. Minus points for using Phil against him, minus points for blindfolding him after telling him exactly where they were going, and double minus points for not even having the gallows set up when he arrived. Honestly, it was pitiful, and he would have felt bad for them except he didn’t. Because they were trying to kill the unkillable Technoblade.

Techno examined the cuffs on his wrists and huffed through his tusks. Effective, but crude. They clearly hadn’t been expecting to chain him in a cell while he awaited his execution because these cuffs really could have used a clean. They were speckled with surface rust that Techno abhorred with all of his being. Surface rust was the one way to slowly destroy a weapon. 

His pointed ears twitched upon hearing the creak of an iron door, followed by the stamping of feet. He rolled his eyes, knowing that the gait wasn’t from a trained warrior but rather from a pompous fool who had probably never held a weapon in their life. “The gallows had better be ready because I’m getting bored,” he called before the person could come into view.

“Are you in a hurry to die, Technoblade?” The voice was silky smooth and the warrior immediately hated it.

“The rating of this kidnapping has now dropped to a 1/10, congrats,” he growled.

“If you weren’t in so much of a hurry, we could prepare your execution a little more,” the voice said, heedless of his biting words. “There were people we wanted to invite to see your final moments. Philza, for example, though I believe you’ve already met him today.”

Oh, the voices demanded blood and death and Techno was more than happy to oblige, save for both his wrists being chained to the wall and the thick iron bars keeping him trapped in a cell with no mildly decent weapons nearby. The speaker came into view and just like Techno had expected, they were dressed in blue silken finery with gold chains around their throat and more gold woven into their hair. They wore sandals too. Of all the footwear, they chose  _ sandals _ .

It was lucky that they didn’t expect Techno to speak because he had nothing to say to them. The nobles, of course,  _ loved _ to hear their own voices. “Apologies, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alexander, I’m the one who organised your retrieval and execution.”

“My condolences to your horrible organisation skills, this is the worst execution I’ve ever attended.”

Alexander’s smile didn't fade in the slightest. “As I said, had we been given more time we could have organised a more fabulous event and invited some of your companions.”

“Well you kinda had all the time in the world to come get me, you didn’t  _ have _ to come get me when you did,” Techno pointed out, his voice a bit higher and strained with annoyance but still monotone. “I was just sitting in my house, minding my own business, far away from you lot and you had all the time in the world to just leave me and get me when you were ready but  _ no _ . This is your fault, don’t try to blame this on me.”

“Would you like to wait here for a few weeks while we gather your friends?” Alexander asked, taking a step closer to the cell. “I’m sure they’d love to see you thrash as your windpipe is crushed. Philza, for example. You two are close friends, are you not?”

“Technoblade doesn’t have friends.”

“And yet you surrendered yourself to save his life.” The noble stepped forward again. “I agree with you, Technoblade. You do not have friends. Philza is not your friend. Philza is more than that to you. He is worth more to you than all the treasures in the world, he is worth more to you than all the power in the world, he is worth more to you than your own skin. Perhaps you tell yourself that he is merely a friend, but I know, Technoblade. I know you consider him your adoptive father, and I know that sometimes, you believe for a fleeting second that he is your true father. I know that if he told you to give him the world, you would in an instant. I know that if he told you to slit your own throat, you would without asking why. I know the power he has over you, Technoblade. And I know the power you have over him.”

Techno couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Even the voices had gone silent. How could he have been read and understood so easily?

“Tell me, Technoblade, how do you think he would feel to see you die? Do you think he’d be distressed? Do you think he would mourn for you? Do you think he would take his own life to see you again? Do you think that he would throw himself into the darkest deeds if it meant getting you back?”

Techno wanted to growl until the nobleman shut his mouth, he wanted to shout and snap and rip him apart limb from limb but all he could manage was curling back his lips and snarling with his tusks without a sound.

“And there are others,” Alexander said, ignoring the attempted threat. “The boy Tommy. You don’t care much for him perhaps but you would still drop everything to protect him. The other, Wilbur. You have a tender spot for him, you’ve never once snarled or growled at him. I’m sure they would be vocal at your execution. Do you believe that Philza would be silent? Or would he be the loudest?”

“Enough,” Techno growled, his face turned away with pink strands falling into it. 

Alexander smiled to himself. “Ten minutes until showtime, Technoblade. If you have any last words you’ll like me to deliver to your family, do let me know.”

Techno didn’t. Techno wouldn’t cave like that. Techno wouldn’t open up his cold stone heart to reveal the bleeding one underneath. He would have no final words, only a legacy to leave behind. And so when he was picked up 13 minutes and 43 seconds later, he said nothing as he was chained with his hands before him and led from his cell to his death post.

Quite a crowd had gathered around the raised platform on which stood a tall pole and crosspiece, a loop of rope hanging from it. It was very obvious what its purpose was and Technoblade felt an uncomfortable feeling around his neck just looking at it. He missed Phil. Was he on his way with Techno’s rescue? Or would he be too late? He grit his teeth, feeling his tusks digging into his lips. He was Technoblade. He wouldn’t feel fear, and he sure as hell wouldn’t show it.

With nearly agonising slowness, he was pulled through the crowd and up to the platform, forced to stand on a stool as the rope was put over his head and tightened around his neck. A droning nobleman voice read out a list of crimes and the like that made Techno raise his eyes to the sky in boredom. He half wanted to tell the man to get on with it but that  _ would _ mean that he would die sooner, which wasn’t preferable. 

At the end of the achingly long speech, the man asked Techno if he had any last words, to which Techno just stared at him flatly, blinking slowly. He felt a flicker of satisfaction when the man flushed and waved for the hooded executioner to do his work as he hopped down from the stage. The executioner stepped up, probably sneering behind the mask that covered his whole head. Techno refused to close his eyes as a foot was raised to the stool, the entire crowd watching in absolute silence.

The stool was pushed out from under Technoblade’s feet. He dropped, the rope pulling tight around his neck, cutting off his air and he felt  _ fear _ -

Only to have a blade slice through air with whistling speed and the tension on the rope was dropped and Techno was released, dropping to the ground and landing on his feet. Taking a single deep breath, his head flicked to the side to see a familiar lithe figure in green pulling a sword from the throat of the executioner, having used the same stroke that had freed Techno to end the man’s life.

“Took your time, Clay,” Techno grumbled, casually freeing the rope from his neck with his bound hands as the crowd went up in uproar.

“Techno, please, I’m on mission,” the runner replied, exasperated but with a grin on his face as he turned his white mask to the hybrid.

“Fine then,  _ Dream _ , you took your time.”

Dream shrugged, still wearing that infuriatingly casual grin. “Philza and I got caught up with the border guard, he’s on his way. Speaking of which, we should get going before this crowd lynches us.”

“Thought you’d never ask. Want to get rid of these cuffs for me?”

With ease, Dream slashed through the links holding Techno’s hands together, releasing them. The two lept from the platform into the crowd which scattered with screams before them, Dream’s long blade encouraging their flight. He acted as a shield for Techno as the latter ran through the crowd, the green-clad runner ducking and darting like a caffeinated squirrel with his blade flicking faster than a snake’s tongue. They made it through the crowd (full of peasants and lower-class nobles, not one fighter among them) and dove into the confusing, twisting hallways of the buildings that surrounded the execution platform. Not Techno’s first choice but there was nowhere else to go.

“Where’s the meet-up point?” Techno huffed. He could feel the rawness around his neck from the rope but it wasn’t bleeding which was nice.

“North, there’s two palm trees arranged in a V shape,” Dream informed quickly. “The rendezvous time is dusk.”

“Technoblade!”

Techno huffed at hearing the voice of the noble Alexander again. “Hate that guy,” he growled.

Dream cast a glance over his shoulder, chuckling. “Yeah, he seems like an arse. Bet he can’t keep up with us, though. Looks like he hasn’t seen a day of battle in his life.”

The hybrid chuckled with his fellow warrior, both increasing their speed to pull away from the nobleman-

“Clay Rolvenflame!” Alexander called out. “I know who killed your sister!”

The runner slowed suddenly to a full stop, leaving Techno to run a few more steps before coming to a stop too, turning to see the other. Clay’s face - well, what he could see of it - was slack, the single statement seeming to stop his world. Behind them, Techno could see Alexander walking calmly towards them, still a far way down the corridor but the soft smile on his face was easily seen by the hybrid.

“Dream, come on, we need to go,” he urged but the noble had begun speaking again.

“I know who killed Drista, Clay. I know what happened that night.” He raised his voice louder. “It was Technoblade who killed your sister, Clay. Drista was killed by the same man you saved from the hanging posts. The same warrior you aid has your sister’s blood on his hands.”

Ah. This was a predicament. It wasn’t new news for Techno who had secretly known all along that he had killed Clay’s sister but having it told now, in the middle of enemy territory where he  _ was _ relying on Dream and his sword to get him out of here wasn’t the place Techno had in mind for when he told the runner. (Actually, he hadn’t been planning on telling the runner at all, because he just didn’t think it was something that needed to be known.)

Clay hadn’t moved but even with the mask, Techno could feel the eyes beneath boring into him. He could see the muscles tightening in the hand that held the sword, the chest of the hoodie moving as the lungs below took deep, regular breaths that didn’t hide the tension in the jaw. 

“You’re aiding your sister’s killer, Clay,” Alexander called again.

“Dream, come on, we need to go before we’re both killed,” Techno urged again in his monotone voice. “Phil’s waiting for us.”  _ So if you kill me, Phil will know. _

Clay’s shaking breath slipped through his lips, but he took one step, and then another, and then they were running again as Alexander’s voice called out after them, but neither stopped to hear what he was saying. Clay didn’t speak again for the rest of the run, his mouth set in a hard line as they left the city, crossed the village beyond it and then out into the northern country until they found a small patch of trees dominated by two grown at odd angles to create a sharp wedge. There, they both slowed and came to a stop, though neither sat down.

“Dream? How you doing, buddy?” Techno asked. He wasn’t good with the whole ‘emotional’ thing but he wanted to know how likely it was that Dream was going to cut off his head.

Clay didn’t speak, letting out a slow breath. He raised his non-sword hand to his face and used it to lift off his mask, and Techno frowned in both confusion and interest because he’d  _ never _ seen Clay with his mask off. He caught a glimpse of pale skin dusted with warm brown freckles and piercing green eyes that locked with his deep black ones and then-

_ Techno stood with his axe in one hand, the sharp head clean but the handle flecked with blood. Below him lay a young teenager with long blond hair splayed around her, collapsed on the ground from where a swift hit had knocked her out, blood running down her temple. Two cuts ran down her arms, the result of the dagger she had foolishly tried to attack him with which was now gripped in Techno’s other hand, her blood staining it. He dropped it carelessly, gripping his axe with both hands. The voices cried out for blood and with a smile twisting around his tusks, Techno raised his axe and brought it down on the child’s throat, easily severing it. _

The hybrid blinked and realised that Clay was pulling back down his mask, cutting off his gaze from Techno’s as a shuddering breath escaped him. “You killed my sister,” he whispered.

In a monotone voice devoid of emotion or regret; “Yes.” What was the point in denying it? 

Techno saw tears slipping from the edge of the mask but Clay didn’t say another word to him. In fact, they didn’t speak for years afterwards.


	19. Panic! At the Disco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Panic Attacks  
> Character: Dream, George, Seto
> 
> Dream has some bad experiences with being chained and forced to his knees and watching his siblings die in front of him, and- Wait, why are you panicking, Dream?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I HAD AN IDEA THAT WHAT IF DREAM AND CLAY ARE TWIN BROTHERS INSTEAD OF BEING THE SAME PERSON AND HERE IT IS.
> 
> Disclaimer that I myself don't have any personal experience with panic attacks and I didn't do research for this, so take everything here with a healthy dose of salt.

His hands were hanging from the chains attached to the ceiling, his back against the rough stone wall and his feet unable to brush the floor that was just a little too far away for him to reach. He tipped his head back onto the cool roughness, taking in deep breaths through his nose and puffing them out through his mouth. His skin crawled at the contact with the metallic cuffs, the tension thick across his shoulders and back as he tried to stay focused on breathing in and out slowly. He hated this, he  _ hated _ this. He hated being trapped, he hated being chained up, he hated being unable to control his movements or protect himself or protect others and he hated being unable to move and run and being left at the mercy and will of others without any space to move or fight-

_ Breathe Dream, breathe _ , he reminded himself and he forcefully released the shaking air from his lungs and deliberately sucked more in, stemming the welling panic that had been simmering below the surface since the cuffs had first touched his skin. Being chained at all brought back horrible memories. Not having the weight of his usual hoodie didn’t help either. It was all just a little too much-

How much longer would he have to wait here? Had he been abandoned- No, no people knew where he had been going, his tracks would have been easy enough to find if they had a skilled tracker with them, like George. George knew his usual methods, he’d know how to find Dream. Once they knew he’d been captured, they’d be on their way, they’d be coming to save him, they’d be- They’d be-

A pained hum came from him as he tried to keep his breathing steady. His panic was growing worse with each passing second and he was constantly losing count of his breathing pattern. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to feel these cursed restraints on his wrists, he didn’t want to be here with the tension of what was going to happen next, what they were going to do next-

The door to the cell opened and his eyes flashed open, his head flicking to the door of the circular room he was contained in. Men came in, undoing the chains that ran down the wall and lowering him to the ground and he couldn’t stop the gasp of relief that came as his feet touched solid ground. Rough hands gripped his bare arms, additional hands unclasping the chains that hung onto his cuffs and attaching a new, shorter chain that drew his hands behind his back and Dream thrashed, trying to stop them because he couldn’t have his hands behind his back, not again, not  _ again- _

His hands were bound behind him and the hands gripping him propelled him out of the cell room, down hallways and out into the open air. The breeze that whistled by didn’t help to calm him but only made the simmering panic  _ worse _ . He was panting, gasping for breath, all thought of breathing patterns and controlling himself had vanished from his mind as he only concentrated on trying to prevent that overwhelming urge to snap and break and be submerged in that day, that day when-

He was pushed, shoved, by someone? Something? He fell to his knees with a cry, his hands pinned behind him, hearing someone’s pained scream and it was too much, it was too much. Even with his eyes screwed up tight, it was too much and he was panting, gasping as he curled over his knees, head down to the grass, arms straining against his bonds. He- He- Drista, Clay, his- his siblings, his  _ family _ , he- he was supposed to protect them, he- 

His arms were pinned behind his back and hands were holding him back and he couldn’t thrash to get free, he couldn’t scream loud enough to stop it, couldn’t break free to stop Clay - his brother, his twin brother, their souls were tied together - his throat was slashed, a line ripped from his neck to his waist, blood flying and his eyes instantly glazing over. Drista, his sister Drista, she’d put up just as much of a fight as him but she was young, she was so young, he should have died and not her, her body joining Clay’s but Dream-

Dream had been released, he’d been released to grasp the bodies of his family, the ones who had meant more to him than he had meant to himself, crying of a shattered heart and a torn soul, screaming to the heavens but it couldn’t bring them back to life, they were dead and he hadn’t been fast enough to protect them, he hadn’t been strong enough, he hadn’t been  _ enough- _

A weight was put on him and a shadow cast over him as he cried over the bodies of his brother and his sister, his hands released from his back to grab onto their shirts, weeping bitterly and pouring out what was left of his soul. Whether he was breathing didn’t matter, who was coming to kill him didn’t matter, nothing mattered, there was nothing outside this hellhole of a world where his siblings no longer lived.

In the real world, the current one, George was frantically but calmly trying to comfort Dream who was hunched over on the ground, his hands twisting and gripping into the grass as he shuddered and gasped and cried and George didn’t know what to  _ do _ . He’d thrown his cloak over Dream to try and help and was rubbing his arms, the cuffs they'd taken off him cast away but it hadn’t seemed to help much.

“Dream, Dream, it’s okay, it’s George,” he was saying quietly. “Take deep breaths, it’s going to be okay, Dream.” He rubbed Dream’s back to try and bring him back from whatever panic he’d been cast into.

The man shuddered, his breaths stuttering as some small part of his mind finally acknowledged the words but he started shaking his head over and over again, a steady stream of “No, no, no” pouring from his mouth. His hands twisted further into the grass, his shaking getting worse.

“Hey, it’s okay Dream, it’s going to be okay, just focus on me, okay?” George tried to assure but he’d never seen Dream like this, he’d never seen him so- so  _ broken _ and lost and hopeless. He didn’t know what to  _ do _ .

Around him, the others who had been part of the rescue team gave them some space and scouted the area, though a handful stayed close to help if needed, keeping watchful eyes as George tried to calm Dream down. Only a couple minutes later, though it felt like an eternity, Dream coughed and gasped, blinking his eyes open and George could  _ see _ that because his usual mask was gone. He raised his head, shaking, his unfocused eyes staring ahead of him. “Cl-Clay.”

“What?” George asked, still rubbing his back, looking in the same direction but he saw nothing. 

Dream raised a shaking hand to the air in front of them as if he could see something George couldn’t. “Cl-Clay,” he coughed and gasped again, tears running down his face in a fresh wave. “Cl-Clay, Clay, C-Cl-Clay-”

“Seto, what’s happening?” one of the rescue team quietly murmured to another as George helplessly looked to them for help. Was Dream going insane? Was he hallucinating? What had they done to him during his time of imprisonment? He seemed physically fine but mentally…

“Hold on, I’ll check,” said the robed sorcerer, raising his hand. Purple fire burst across his fingertips and he flicked them over his eyes, briefly closing and then opening them again to a greyscale world. The people around him; Sky, Mitch and Jerome, George, and Dream, as well as the scouts were dark outlines with flickering white mist filling them - their souls. Casting his glance around, he saw the faintly transparent white shapes of ghosts as they hovered, never quite touching the real world. In front of Dream was another ghost, one that flashed brighter than the others, more opaque. Stepping over and kneeling down close to them, Seto could see that the souls of Dream and the ghost were both torn, seemingly in matching ways.

“He can see the ghost,” Seto murmured in wonder, looking between them. “They’re soul-bound.”

“What?” asked Sky from behind.

Seto waved a hand behind him. “It’s a twin thing, some can be soul-bound to the other and the bond can pass through death,” he explained quietly but quickly as he put his hand on Dream’s shoulder. “Dream, you can see him, can’t you?” he asked softly. “You can see your brother.”

“Clay,” Dream choked again, his hand still reaching out for the ghost, still partially locked in whatever world he’d fallen into. Seto saw the ghost reaching forward his own hand, the misty tendrils wrapping around Dream’s grip and pulling it close, the other hand stroking back the hair that shifted in the wind.

“I-I’m sorry,” Dream coughed, tears staining his voice. “I’m  _ sorry _ , I-I’m sorry, I-I-I’m s-so-I’m sor-ry...”

The ghost of Clay nodded as if he knew, his forehead resting on Dream’s and his mouth moving in words that no one could hear, but their souls pulsed slightly. Dream didn’t stop shaking nor did his tears stop pouring nor did his voice stop choking out apologises that tumbled over themselves. The ghost looked up to Seto, knowing that the sorcerer could see him. His shifting, blurry face seemed to be pained and pleading as he gestured to his living brother, and Seto knew what he was asking for.

He silently raised his hands, lightly resting them on Dream’s head and closing his eyes. A couple moments later, purple pulsed around his palms and Dream’s body relaxed and sagged, tipping against George who held him, looking at Seto with a question already on his lips.

“He’s not dead, I just forced his mind into unconsciousness to calm him,” Seto explained before he’d even opened his eyes, the souls disappearing from his sight. He took his hands away. “We need to get away from here before any reinforcements come and we get thrown into another fight.”

George nodded, wrapping his cloak around his unconscious friend and Jerome came over to sling him over his shoulder. With Sky leading the way and the scouts watching their backs, the rescue team and the freed prisoner left.


	20. Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Grief  
> Character: Technoblade
> 
> Techno has his own way of dealing with grief. Jury's out on whether it's helping him heal or just making it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I have returned from my few days break to make you all CRY, enjoy!

It was the early hours of the morning, the sky growing a cover of transparent grey that signalled the coming of the dawn but for now, it simply washed out the colour of the world, turning the royal red of Techno’s cape dull and leeching the brightness from his vibrant pink hair. The grass under his feet was normally a lush green but it cracked underfoot with frost as he trod, his cloak flicking at his feet. He’d left his usual golden crown at home and the tips of his ears tingled in the chill, though it was too early for any snow to fall.

At his feet, the headstones of graves both new and old rose up to the height of his knees, names scrawled on them in various fonts with various levels of legibility. For most, grass had occupied the overturned earth and wreaths of flowers were placed at the foot of many headstones. Techno had no flowers. He never brought any. He didn’t think it’d be appreciated. He stepped quietly, silently, though there was no one to see as he came to a stop near a newer headstone, grey earth still showing underneath young grass.

“Hey Phil.” He spoke quietly in his low voice, his breath misting in the chill air past his tusks. His arms were by his sides as he looked down at the headstone, seeing the  _ Philza Minecraft _ carved across the front but not much more as he looked below it. “I see Tommy’s been here. He got you flowers.”

The hybrid lowered himself, pulling the furred edges of his cloak tighter around his body (not for comfort, of course not, just to keep them away from the grass and dirt) as he leaned against the cold carved stone. “He was probably here with Tubbo, I’d imagine. They’re basically inseparable. Tommy’s really been missing you, Phil. He’s all mopey and quiet, it’s kinda pathetic to see, really, what with… how he usually is. But Tubbo’s been sticking beside him, really making sure he doesn’t get lost in his head. It’s doing him good, I think. And I’ve been there too, of course, you know, just offering my house for him to stay the night and such.”

He looked up at the grey expanse above. Even the stars were concealed in this time between day and night. “I don’t think you’ve seen Wilbur yet but don’t hold it against him. He hadn’t yet built up the courage to visit but he’s tried. I’ve found him at the fenceline several times, knuckles white as he gripped it.” He chuckled, low and quiet. “I had to forcefully pry him off and carry him back to my house to warm him up before he froze to death. I’d offer to bring him here to keep him company, but… I don’t know if he’d appreciate it.”

Actually, Techno didn’t want to accompany Wilbur for a totally different reason. The same reason why he snuck out here himself in the twilight of the morning, when neither the nocturnal nor the diurnal creatures were awake.

“The farm’s been going well,” he told the grave, his eyes dully scanning the cemetery as he talked. “I figured out the watering problem yesterday. The hose had gotten kinked and the weeds had choked the life out of it. I cleared all that and redid the plumbing and replanted everything around there so that’s all sorted. Ranboo came over to give me a hand, though I think he just wanted the company.” Techno shrugged. “I don’t mind because you didn’t mind. Besides, he’s good with potatoes.”

A deep, melancholy sigh escaped him as he leaned his head back on the headstone, his plaited hair slipping over it. “He misses you too. Ranboo. He kinda makes these movements like he’s looking around, waiting for you to open the door and come home. I hope you don’t mind but I let him borrow your kimono to take home the other day when it was sprinkling a little. I figured you would have wanted him to have it, so… Yeah.”

“I still keep your room how you like it,” he informed, scratching behind his ear, his earrings clicking. “I know you hate it when it gets hot and stuffy so I open the window in the mornings and close it at lunch. Lately, I’ve been leaving it open for an hour or so after dinner to let in the night air, keep it cold. Cause your wings always made it hotter for you, so I figured you’d like it.”

“And… I still keep a place empty for you, at the table. When I eat alone, I set it up for you too. Just so I don’t get lonely, you know? I figured you’d appreciate it. Also, you sometimes came home late so it’s kinda a habit to keep things open for you just in case.” He pulled up one knee, resting his arm on it, his cloak falling back. “The house is pretty quiet without you, Phil. I know you never made much noise but it was just… your presence made it a whole lot warmer.”

Techno didn’t cry. He never cried and he never really knew why. The sky was lighter, colour beginning to bleed back into the world and he tilted back his head, feeling the cold breeze twinged with a warm promise. “It’ll be good flying weather this morning, Phil. Cold air, warm currents coming from the east, bit of sun breaking through the cloud cover. I reckon you would have liked to have a fly today. Seems like the sort of thing you’d enjoy.” He gave a low chuckle. “You’d probably be out for half the day.”

“The city’s changed a bit too, by the way. I told you about how that old tower fell down but they’ve finally cleared it and made plans for the building to replace it. It’s going to be a big market stall, open to anyone who wants to come and set up shop. The kind of thing you’d like. Just a place to go wander, trade for a few random trinkets. Maybe I’ll get you something when it goes up, hang it in your room somewhere so you can enjoy it. I think you’d like that, Phil.”

The first tips of the sun’s rays were barely visible on the horizon and Techno could feel the world sluggishly starting to wake up, groggily moving to begin the day. He felt like the morning had sucked the warmth from his limbs as it always did and he barely had the strength to shift so he could see Phil’s grave, reaching out a hand to brush the young grass growing across the overturned soil. Techno didn’t cry, but he felt two cold tears run down his cheeks.

“Why did you have to go, Phil?” he asked in a soft, small voice, his head on the gravestone and his hand over the place where Phil lay. “Why did you have to leave me?” His voice broke and he knew his breathing was shaky. “Why did it have to be so soon?”

No answer came from beyond the grave and Techno hid his face in the stone as the colour came back and the firstfruits of warmth were cast over the earth, newborn sunlight streaming. When he felt the tentative heat on his back, he knew it was time to go.

He stood up, numb to the tears on his face, his furred cloak falling around him. “I’ll come back tomorrow, Phil,” he promised, as he promised every time he left Phil’s grave. It was a promise that he hadn’t broken, not even once. It was a promise that he’d made from the day Phil died and he would keep making it through eternity.

So Techno turned. And Techno left. 


	21. Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lost, Field medicine  
> Characters: Skydoesminecraft, Deadlox, BajanCanadian, SetoSorcerer
> 
> Lost in the nether, the four members of Team Crafted don't have a lot of time before three of them succumb, if not to the heat or to exhaustion, then to their injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain: Okay, so this is a daily prompt.  
> Me: Yes.  
> Brain: So writing less than 1000 words is fine.  
> Me: Yes.  
> Brain: So let's write a small story-  
> Me: I took three days to write a 2100 word story and also came up with background and lore for each character  
> Brain: wHY?!

The heat of the nether was mild and in some ways refreshing from the almost overwhelming chill of the world above, but as Sky took in a deep breath of the ash-tinged air, he knew that most people found the temperature unbearable. In fact, trips to the nether realms had so frequently resulted in people passing out due to heat exhaustion that they’d become restricted to hour-long ventures at a time. And as Sky looked over his shoulder at his team, he knew why.

The three behind him looked like they were wilting in the heat, Ty more so than Mitch and Seto. His white t-shirt was soaked with perspiration and fresh blood that had already dried, his hair sticking to his head. His grey pants were ripped at the knees, the skin underneath torn and bleeding too, along with both of his palms. His arms were hooked over Mitch and Seto’s shoulders, both of whom didn’t look too good themselves.

Mitch’s checkered jacket was gone, the sleeves ripped above his elbows and his hair singed an inch shorter than before. He was limping when he stepped but he didn’t make a single noise of complaint as he supported Ty, blinking sweat and tears out of his face. Seto had retained his cloak by a sheer miracle and he must have been boiling in it, but he didn’t take it off. His usually bright purple eyes were dull and he had one hand on Ty’s back and the other pressed to the man’s chest, purple magic faintly pulsing around it.

Sky faced forward, continuing to lead the way through the thin tunnel carved in the roof of the nether realm. He had no wounds and no burns and energy wise, he was flying. The hot air was home, it was invigorating, but he knew that the three he was leading were suffering. He kept his focus forward, his hand lightly running over the roughness of the tunnel walls and feeling them disintegrate underneath his fingertips. His senses pulsed, his eyes glowing softly behind his sunglasses as he pushed out the shielding aura he was holding, keeping it steady as they moved. 

“Okay, we’ll take a break here,” he whispered quietly, stopping.

The three behind him instantly stopped and sank down the wall. Sky didn’t realise just how exhausted they were and he immediately felt bad for having pushed them for so long. He let out his own tense breath and sat cross-legged against the other wall, knowing that the body heat would only make their discomfort worse. Seto kept his hand to Ty’s chest, eyes narrowed at it.

“You doing okay, Ty?” Mitch asked softly, wiping his forehead.

Ty sucked in a pained breath. “Sure, assuming the internal trauma ripping apart at my organs doesn’t kill me before we get out.”

“Stop whinging, I’m looking after it,” Seto grumbled, but his eyes had deep bags under them and his shoulders were slumped. Sky looked away, running his hand through his knotty hair. He wished he could help Seto who’d already burnt out so much of his energy, but he couldn’t pull his concentration from the aura he was hiding them with. One failing move of that, and he wouldn’t be able to save any of them. 

“How much further do we have to go, Sky?” Mitch asked, his breath hitching when he shifted his leg to lie before him. 

Sky hesitated, but he told the truth. “I-I don’t know. I know it’s east, but I don’t know how far or whether it’s more north-east or south-east. We might have missed it, we might be miles away from it still, I just… I don’t know.” He sighed deeply. “I’m just kind of relying on being able to sense the portal when we’re close but we might be too high up for that. And I don’t know when this tunnel stops.”

His ultimatum didn’t help the mood and the four were silent, lost in their own doomsday thoughts. They were pulled from it when Mitch shifted and gave a rare whimper of pain. 

“You okay?” Seto asked, looking up at him instantly with concern. 

Mitch winced and shook his head. “My ankle’s on fire, it feels like it’s about to snap. I’ve been pushing it way too far. I can’t help carry you anymore, I’m sorry Ty.”

Ty waved an exhausted hand. “It’s okay, you need to look after yourself too.”

“I can’t carry him on my own.” Seto looked up to Sky. 

Sky bit his lip, looking down the thin tunnel and then over at the wall beside the three. “Maybe…” he murmured to himself as he rose, crossing the simple step over to them. “There could be a couple scraps nearby I could use.”

“Scraps of what?” Mitch asked, probably thinking that Sky had gone nuts but the older ignored him. He pressed his palms flat to the wall, feeling the netherrack crumble under his hands. His chest steadily moved in and out as his breaths stirred in his chest. He pushed out his senses, feeling the area around him, probing the different materials in the strange earth. A sort of black spot appeared in his sense, a small strange space where his magic rebounded off the material instead of reverberating through it. He held onto it and kept searching, finding a second and then a third of those black spots. Three should be enough and he twisted his hands, drawing them to him through the material they were surrounded by.

The other three watched blankly as Sky stood with his hands to the wall, positioned as if he was pulling something, eyebrows furrowed over his closed eyes. Mere moments later, the wall before him rippled like the surface of a pond, turning viscous, and deep brown shards of  _ something _ emerged, tipping out of it and dropping to his feet in muted clatters. Several other such shards followed and Sky took his hands away from the wall, kneeling down and gathering up the pieces.

“What are those?” Seto didn’t recognise the shards and couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of material they were.

Sky held the shards in his hands, the amber of his eyes glowing softly in the dimness. “The closest translation in your language would be ‘debris’,” he said. The hot air above his hands rippled and the shards warmed to a glowing orange, burning hot as they melted together and molded to Sky’s bare hands that shaped it. “It’s formed in the netherrack over thousands of years, rare and hard to fashion but a thousand times harder than diamonds. The Demon’s sword is made of it, with a coating of diamond on it. That’s why it can’t be broken.” He scowled a little as the debris in his hands sealed together. “It’s also why the world above can’t win a war against the creatures of the nether realms.”

Mitch glanced at the other two, his eyebrows raised a little. Sometimes he forgot that Sky was a nether creature himself, born and bred in this burning, torturous environment until he’d had to escape to the overworld for safety. Safety from the same man whom he shielded them from now. The only one who could outmatch Sky’s secret magical abilities. The Demon.

“Seto, I’m sorry, but could you rip the bottom of your cloak off?” Sky asked without noticing the exchange between them. “Mitch, wrap it around from your heel to your mid-shin, in two or three layers. I can’t let this cool otherwise it’ll harden and become unusable.”

“What are you doing?” the injured warrior asked as Seto gave a regretful sigh and unclipped his cloak with one hand, tossing it to him to rip.

“You’ll see.”

Mitch scoffed. “Mysterious, much?” Regardless, he ripped off the bottom hem of Seto’s cloak and wrapped it around his burning ankle, wincing when he had to take off his shoe. Sky moved over when he was done, the debris in his hands still glowing a soft orange and in a vaguely cylindrical shape, but with a large opening down the side. He slipped the opening around Mitch’s leg and the warrior grimaced but the padding protected his skin from the heat as Sky pushed it onto his leg, smoothing it to shape. Even hot, the material was tough and hard. He extended it all the way to the base of the foot and up the shin, the material cooling to a deep, warm grey colour as he took his hands away, shuffling back.

“That should do,” he said, not sounding fully sure of himself as Mitch slipped back on his shoe with some awkwardness. “It’ll take most of the weight from your ankle and distribute it around your leg and also give more support-”

“We all know what a cast is, Sky,” Ty wheezed.

Sky looked rightfully sheepish. “R-Right. Sorry.”

“Sky.”

The older glanced at the other sorcerer, whose bags were even deeper and darker under his eyes than they had been a few minutes ago. It took a couple of seconds for Seto to look up and after he did, he spoke in a quiet voice as if what he was saying wasn’t meant for Ty or Mitch to hear, but they all heard it anyway.

“I can’t keep this up,” he whispered. “I can’t keep trying to hold his wounds together, I don’t have any energy left, Sky. I’m all magicked out.”

Sky bit his lip. “I can heal him but I can’t do that  _ and _ hold up the shield,” he told them. “If I drop the shield and the Demon’s looking our way then I won’t be able to protect us from him.”

Ty waved his hand, pushing himself up using the wall. “I’m fine, I’m fine-” He gave a sudden gasp, his eyes fluttering and coughing with blood on his lips as he sank back down, Seto catching his head so he didn’t hit it on the wall. The purple magic around his hands pulsed weakly, fading all too quickly.

“You’re really not.” He looked back at Sky, waiting for his decision. If they were close enough to the portal then they could maybe make it in time, even if they were found. If they weren’t and they were truly lost, then...

Sky’s expression was as pained as Ty’s laboured breathing, indecision filling his eyes before it gave way to determination. He moved forward again, crouching next to Ty. Seto took his hand away and as Ty’s face scrunched up in pain and he drew a sharp breath, Sky’s hands lightly replaced them, one on either side of his ribs. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting the aura he had built drop so he could focus on the task before him. Carefully, with slow, patient movements, he poured his magic into the battered chest, running it over the internal and external rips and punctures that littered it and forcing away the blood that had leaked despite Seto’s attempts.

The other two saw Ty’s chest glow golden from the inside, his ribs and organs silhouetted. They could see his heart beating, lungs expanding and retracting as he breathed with golden lines stitching over them and near-transparent liquid leaking into it. Ty hissed, his heart beating faster and his head going back, breathing shallowly.

“I know Ty, just a little bit longer,” Sky said quietly, keeping his eyes closed.

Mitch looked away with a shudder but Seto watched with exhausted curiosity as the ribs stitched together and organs were sown up and all the faint transparent liquid went into the lungs. “Okay, Ty, I’m going to make you cough up all the blood that was in your chest cavity. Try not to panic.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Sky chuckled a little, getting Seto’s help to gently push Ty down to lie on his side, Sky’s hands still on his chest. He counted down quietly and his hands gave a squeeze, the glow of Ty’s chest flashing and then fading as the man shuddered, retching and coughing up blood that sprayed the floor. It dried the moment it left his mouth but when it was over, he was breathing a lot easier and some of the paleness had faded.

“Don’t suppose anyone has any water?” Ty joked weakly as he spat the leftover blood from his mouth, shaking his head.

They all giggled softly, three exhausted beyond belief and one anxious down to his bones. Sky had immediately put back up his shield and he desperately wanted them to keep moving for a bit longer but one look and he knew that none of them had any energy left. Each minute they spent in this heat sapped right from their soul but pushing them to breaking point would only make it worse in the end. 


	22. I don't feel so well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Infection  
> Characters: The Dream Team, Team Crafted

“Woah, hey there buddy, you don’t look too good- Woah, hey! Commander Sky! Someone get the medics, this guy needs help!”

“Is that  _ Dream _ ?? What the hell is  _ he _ doing here?!”

“Does it matter now, Ty? He’s clearly hurt, is Quentin coming?”

“Wh- Sky, you’re not  _ seriously _ going to let him in, are you? He’s our  _ enemy _ for a reason-”

“He’s  _ hurt _ , Ty! I’m not turning away  _ anyone _ who’s hurt like this, not even a squid- Quentin!”

“You’re  _ kidding _ me.”

“Don’t lecture me now, he needs help.”

“No kidding. Ty, get Seto to the infirmary  _ now _ , I’ll try to get him stabilised until he can get there.”

All these words were blurred to Dream as he felt himself being carried, his arms looped around the shoulders of someone and only seconds later, his legs collapsed and his consciousness abandoned him.

* * *

“Okay, remember the plan?”

“Jump through the portal, get to the island, use the beds to blow up the dragon and don’t look at the endermen,” Sapnap rattled off, testing the point of his newly-sharpened sword. “We know Dream, we’ve done this a hundred times before.”

“Besides,  _ you’re _ the one who seems to keep forgetting the plan, Dream,” George chuckled, plucking the string of his bow.

Behind his mask, Dream rolled his eyes. “Whatever, let’s just go, I want to be home before dark.”

He was already crouched on the edge of the portal suspected in the air; a square frame made up of crumbling sand-like stone held together by some sort of alien material that was a deeper and darker green than emerald. It reflected the light strangely, making their reflections shift and waver when the lightsource was steady. In the middle of the frame was a web made up of the galaxy itself, whispering meaningless nothings that contained all the truths of the world. None of the three heeded it. They knew the warnings about those who had listened and were driven mad.

George and Sapnap joined him and together, the three stood staring into the spaceless expanse, their armour strapped to their arms, legs, and chests, their weapons in hand or sheathed. George made sure his goggles were clipped tight, Sapnap adjusted his bandana, and Dream pulled the hood of his jacket a little further over his face, hiding the edges of his mask.

“On three. One.”

“Three!”

As they always did, the three leapt into the portal as one, air and space and time bending around them as they were teleported to a world suspended in tangible nothingness tinged with purple, that sand-like rock making up the single island in this void. The landing was rough but all three rolled with it and came up standing. They were experienced dragon fighters.

An earth-shattering roar bellowed through their ears and at Sapnap’s shouted warning, they split up and dove to the sides as bright purple flames blasted the place where they had been, licking at their feet and clothes. Without hesitation, they split up, Dream and George shooting down the spinning crystals that exploded with each hit while Sapnap drew the attention of the dragon, brandishing his shield and sword and yelling a lot of insults about how its breath smelt and about the occupation of its mother. 

They were practised and did their tasks with ease, having to cut down a few endermen who caught their gazes but otherwise focused on bringing down the dragon. It was getting angrier at their attempts, roaring in a boom that shook the void as they blew up beds and charred its skin. They could tell from the heavy flapping of the huge wings that it was hurting, but only George looked away in time to see the new danger approaching.

“Dream, look out!” George warned in a shout but it didn’t come soon enough, not even for Dream’s lightning-quick reactions. 

The masked man screamed as he felt something pierce his back, just to the side of where he felt his spine. The skin burned ice cold instantly which shouldn’t have happened, it should have been numbed by shock but he spun around, shield coming up and sword going back, helplessly trusting George and Sapnap to protect him from the dragon as he faced the new threat; dozens of strange hybrids, humanoid but with molted black skin and dragon wings and eyes that were slitted like a snake’s. 

Their hands were tipped with black and purple claws and fangs of various sizes pierced their lips, their dragon-like feet wrapped in scraps of cloth. They held dozens of weapons, only a handful of which Dream recognised; spears, swords, axes, nets and tridents, but all too many were strange and foreign. He saw several holding dart-like weapons - one of those must have been what burned in his lower back - and as they approached, Dream retreated.

George and Sapnap were occupied by the dragon. Distracting them could cause their death, but they couldn’t escape until the dragon’s death triggered the portal reigniting. The danger and thrill of being trapped with no back-up was what spurred on dragon hunters like themselves. But Dream had never even  _ heard  _ of hybrids like these before, and he had no doubt that they would stop them from killing the dragon at all costs.

He didn’t dare meet their eyes in case they were like endermen and instead kept his gaze on their chests. He held his axe across his own chest, his bow and quiver on his back, hearing the roaring of the dragon behind him. Retreat slowly, keep the distance between them- The back of his knees hit the bedrock edge of the portal and he made the mistake of glancing away and down, and it was a mistake.

With a chorus of screeches and whoops and inhumane growls, the hybrids charged in a huge, unceasing wave that crashed upon them. His axe was useless in the close quarters but he fought back as best as he could, using the handle to block the weapons and claws that came for him and slashed with the broad axe head where he could. He caught a few of the creatures, drawing purple blood that swirled with different shades, hearing George and Sapnap’s panicked shouts somewhere behind him and the roaring of the dragon above. 

He felt claws slash at his side and arms, slashing straight through his armour and ripping at his skin, and the pointed tip of a wing slice across his face. He felt the tip go right through his mask, splitting it in half as the tip pierced his skin and Dream screamed at the burning ice running through his veins. The pain made him gasp and tremble, missing the moment that the dragon soared close and roared and he was engulfed in searing purple flames that ripped away at everything he was. His knees hit the endstone floor and he breathed in the burning cold and ice hot flames, choking on his lungs. He faintly heard someone screaming something that could have been his name and hands with claws grabbed him, throwing him backwards. His head hit something hard and he saw stars and little else.

With calculating methoditiy, the hybrids moved on from the strangely clad human crumpled in the bedrock portal that was the centre of the island. One scraped its claws along the side, purple fire bursting from them and a void woven from a thousand stars soaked into the portal, and the human with a mask half-covering his face disappeared through it.

Some small shred of consciousness still stirred in Dream, enough for him to know that he’d been teleported back to the overworld somehow, and that his body was burning as if poison was eating at it. His eyes blinked at the bright light of the sun, only half of his face protected by his broken mask. He groaned as he rolled off his back and forced himself up, his tattered hoodie sleeve showing the claw marks on his arm and a dazed closer inspection told him that his veins were turning black, which… wasn’t good, right?

He remembered stumbling to his feet, not knowing where he was, and heading north- south? He didn’t know, but he remembered the shadow of a huge walled gate over him, and then voices and hands holding him, and then…

And then he was waking up, head pounding and eyes blurring and mouth tasting like he just ate a pound of sawdust. His body ached, his chest sore each time he breathed but he was alive and his pain was dull instead of sharp so he couldn’t complain. He blinked a few times at the ceiling above, noting the pale cream colour of it and that his mask had been taken from him. From there, his eyes wandered around, taking in the large window to the side of the room, the curtains draped across it, the few machines and tubes that were connected to him, and the man sitting in the chair beside his bed with eyebrows raised expectantly over dark, tinted sunglasses with his arms crossed over his chest and a gold and amethyst amulet hanging around his neck.

Dream froze, instantly recognising the man. He realised where he was in a flash and while he might be alive for now, he suddenly knew that that could very well change  _ very _ soon.

“Morning,” the man said, his tone light and smiling but no smile was on his face.

“Commander Sky,” Dream said back.

“Planning on blowing up any more weapon and food stockpiles?” the Commander asked coolly. “Because if you are, it looks like it’s going poorly.”

“Well that depends, have you seen George and Sapnap anywhere?” Because the last time Dream had heard them, they were being attacked by demonic End hybrids. 

Commander Sky leaned back in his chair, his hidden eyes never leaving the unmasked man. “No, hence why I say your plan is going poorly. That, and the fact that you were literally dying of an infection when you showed up at our gates.” He paused, his eyes probably narrowing. “What were you doing before you arrived at the gates?”

“Dragon hunting,” Dream told him honestly. No sense in lying, most people knew that the trio were hunters.

“In the End?"

Dream scoffed. “Well where else do you find dragons?”

The Commander hummed. “Well, either way, you owe your life to Ty. Seto and Quentin were losing you until Ty agreed to remove the infection from your body. He also hates you and your two buddies for all the dragons you guys have been killing so I wouldn’t go near him any time soon.”

“Why does he hate us?” Dream’s confusion was understandable as most people either didn’t know about the End realm or didn’t care.

Commander Sky stood, straightening the hem of his shirt. “Because he’s an End citizen, just like those hybrids you were undoubtedly attacked by. Given his annoyance and the fact that half of the army is pretty angry at you for blowing up our supplies a few months back, I’d recommend you don’t leave this room.” He leaned forward, tapping a button on one of the machines and Dream felt cold liquid seeping into his arm. “Time to sleep now, Dream. I’ll visit you again later.”

And Dream passed out.


	23. Do these tacos taste funny to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Poisoned, Drugged  
> Character: Herobrine
> 
> Herobrine had a lax in judgement, and in his deep desperation, he trusted the wrong person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra warning for this chapter is alcohol!

It was perhaps a foolish thing to think since he was in disguise, but Hero really felt like he had a home among these men.

Originally, he had joined Notch’s army under the guise of someone else just to keep tabs on his brother and be present should any attempt on his life be made. He’d joined the army as a generic guard and was a little surprised but not disorientated when his past experience and skill meant he was promoted up through the ranks until he reached where he was now; the right-hand man of Notch himself, who had no idea that the man who was running his army and in charge of his protection was also the same man whom everyone was trying to protect him  _ from _ .

But Herobrine hadn’t had any intention of harming his brother for decades and certainly didn’t feel any now. And when the impossible distance he felt with his brother became too much - after yet another meeting discussing what that monster known as Herobrine was planning now - Hero found comfort in going to the barracks and spending the night talking and drinking with the men he commanded.

It was hard not to slip into that deep sadness that so often plagued him but Hero found it a little easier when he grinned and chuckled as the men talked, their voices growing louder the more they drank. Hero himself was also drinking but the alcohol had less of an effect on him and he could keep most of his wits. After a few hours, several of the men nodded off to sleep, some in the seats they sat in while others had the presence of mind to drag themselves over to the bunks before their snores began. Finally, it was only Hero and one of the younger men awake.

“Would you like something to eat, Captain Nathan?” the younger man asked. He had drunk less than his comrades and seemed to have retained more or less of his cognitive function.

Hero, known only as Captain Nathan Hunrish to these people, stretched his arms above his head with a sigh. “Why not, it’ll help the drink stay down. We’d better put this lot into bed though, otherwise they’ll be complaining all day tomorrow.”

The young man chuckled and helped his Captain drag the unconscious forms of the men and dump them unceremoniously onto the nearest bunk before vacating the room. The young man - Hero knew his name to be Cory - led his Captain to the barracks a little further down the way. They were tucked into the back corner closest to the stables, so as such they were only used when there was a sudden spike in the number of warriors enlisted in the army, and right now only three of the bunks were in use.

“Both of my bunkmates are out with their own squad members,” Cory said disdainfully, kicking aside a blanket strewn across the floor. “Getting drunk, as you do.”

“It’s Friday night, we’re all allowed to loosen up a little.”

Cory hummed in agreement and moved to the back of the barracks in the generic kitchenette that they all had while Hero rightened the upturned chairs and swept the junk off the table. Several minutes later (after Hero had made a note to conduct a surprise cleanliness inspection on these barracks), Cory brought over a few freshly made sandwiches cut in half which the two started chowing down on instantly, relieved to have something to complement the drinks that churned in their stomachs. The sandwiches tasted a little odd to Hero, but whether it was from the lingering taste of alcohol or the slightly stale ingredients Cory probably had to use, he wasn’t sure.

“So no missus?” Cory asked after a while of eating.

Hero chuckled, shaking his head ruefully. “Nah, never had the chance to get looking,” Nathan said. “Married to the job.”

Cory made a scoffing noise. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he grumbled, scowling at his sandwich. 

Another chuckle shook Hero’s shoulders. “So what’s your story, huh? You’re young, it should be easy for you to find a girl.”

“Nah, I’m like you, married to the job.” Cory gave a shrug, putting down his sandwich. “Besides, I never went looking. Doubt many would be interested in me anyway.”

“Eh, don’t believe that,” Herro told him. “You’re attractive enough, you’ve got a good personality, and you’d be surprised at the number of girls who’d be happy to get with a warrior.”

Cory rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat and watching as his superior ate. “You’d have to forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“Hey, if it’s something you’re serious about, then I’ll find someone who has experience and they can wingman you.” He must have had more alcohol than he realised, because his vision was swimming and blurring, and his stomach was quite unhappy.

The notion of his suggestion appeared to be wild enough to draw a laugh from the younger, who then settled again. “You know, I like you, Captain Nathan. You’re a great leader but you’re also a great guy, just… in personality, the way you conduct yourself, how you interact with people even outside of an army setting…” He shrugged. “I dunno, I respect you lots for it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Nathan said with full sincerity. It was nice to just be himself for once.

“It’s why I hope you’ll understand that none of this is personal. Herobrine.”

It was probably from the alcohol, but Hero’s only initial reaction was to narrow his eyes, his eyebrows scrunching together as he swallowed down what was in his mouth. “Pardon?”

“I know who you are, Herobrine,” Cory said flatly, still away from his plate with his arms crossed over his chest. “And as Captain Nathan, you’re a nice guy, but we’ve got a job to do and we need to remove you from the equation. That’s why I’m here.”

Hero’s eyes flicked down to the nearly fully eaten sandwich in his hands, whose slightly off taste still lingered on his tongue. He gently set it down and leaned back in his chair, cursing the way his vision blurred. “If you know who I am, then you’d know that most poisons don’t work on me.”

“Most don’t,” Cory agreed. “But some do. And we know which ones.”

His logic wasn’t working as fast as it normally should, and something was  _ screaming _ at him but he couldn’t quite place it, which led his befuddled mind to ask “Okay, but why?”

“Because you guard someone,” Cory said, leaning forward. “Someone whom my Assassin Guild wishes would stop breathing. We were just about to strike when you became his new right-hand man, and after you foiled the feeble attempts of a different guild, we decided it was better to wait and see who you were and what you could do. Our patience paid off.”

The pieces clicked in his mind and a breath of “Notch” escaped Hero’s lips as he finally made the horrid connection and he pushed himself up, his movements uncontrolled but he’d only stumbled a few steps with his blurred vision before he’d suddenly found himself on the floor, a horrible, twisting pain in his stomach and his head pounding like a bass drum.

“The poison won’t kill you,” Cory told him, unhelpfully adding in a doubtful voice “Probably. But this isn’t personal. I meant it when I said that I admire you, but I have my loyalties, and it’s not to this army, and it’s not to you.”

Hero felt like throwing up, he felt like he  _ needed _ to throw up to get some of this poison out of his system but the clenching of his stomach somehow prevented that possibility. With his muddled mind, he realised that he was curled up in the fetal position, arms wrapped around his stomach as he breathed in shallow, frequent gasps, tears prickling at the edges of his eyes. His skin was on fire, his throat was closing up, his stomach was destroying him from the inside out.

“I-I need to get going,” Cory’s uncertain voice said, slowly growing further away. “The rendezvous to pick us up will be leaving soon.”

“D-D-Don’t-” Hero’s broken voice somehow stuttered, his head twisting to try and look at the younger man who had been one of his men, his desperation easily visible on his face and in his eyes. “H-He’s my-y b- _ brother _ ...”

“He’s a dead man now,” was all Cory said.

Footsteps left and there was nothing else left to distract Herobrine as he clutched his dissolving stomach, his sobs choking him, whispering Notch’s name as elsewhere in the castle, his brother lay dead because he hadn’t been there to protect him.


	24. What's a whumpee got to do to get some sleep around here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Exhaustion, Sleep Deprivation  
> Character: Skydoesminecraft, HuskyMudkipz
> 
> Sky's tired, tired all the way down to his bones. But he doesn't dare rest while his army's being attacked. Quentin disagrees.

The alarm bell went off again and Sky gave a long, loud groan of annoyance as he forced himself up, already fully dressed in the clothes he had collapsed in. His hand automatically grabbed his unsheathed sword for the fifth time in 48 hours, shoving on his crowned helmet and his armoured shoes, taking all of three seconds to strap on his arm and leg guards before running out of his temporary house.

The sky was dark in the early hours of the morning but oil torches burned and flickered and illuminated the tall, damaged wall of the Sky Army base and the surging mass of warriors who fought along it. Sky could barely manage to decipher who was there and who wasn’t, his eyes dry no matter how much he blinked them. How much sleep had he gotten in the past few days? Couldn’t have been more than five or six hours in total, though he’d spent probably half of that stressing and panicking over the constant attacks.

His sword felt heavy and he could feel the urge to stumble and fall growing with each moment but he had to stand firm, he had to be the rallying point. Sky threw himself into the fray, hacking at the iron armour tinged with red that thankfully stood stark from the golden chestplates of his army. His world tunnelled to the single task of attacking everyone he saw wearing iron. It was a good thing that no one needed any tactical advice or leadership because Sky wouldn’t have been able to give it. All they could do was force the enemy army back and away from their broken wall using sheer force.

There was some point when the battle haze cleared from Sky’s mind and he was aware of himself standing away from the shattered wall that was being temporarily refortified with large bits of furniture and old carts and barrels whatever else they could get their hands on. His blood-stained sword was hanging from his limp hand and he was standing with Captain Red Vaktor, Commander Quentin, and Commander Mitch, the latter moving his mouth in speech but Sky only heard buzzing static. He stared blankly, exhaustion burrowing deep to his soul, nearly falling asleep on his feet but anxiety and stress prevented every form of sleep possible.

“SKY!”

He jolted, snapping painfully back to reality. His sword would have come up to a defensive position but he had no strength left to wield it and he stumbled a step, Quentin’s hand catching his shoulder and steadying him. “Huh? What? What’d he say?” Sky stammered. He blinked and rubbed his eyes harshly. He had to get it together.

Quentin’s eyes were pinched worriedly, analysing his friend. Sky’s eyes were rimmed red, deep purple bags under his eyes. His hair was oily and grimy from battle and stuck flat to his head, his shoulders drooped. It wasn’t like him to be inattentive on reports about the welfare of the recruits, nor was it like him to blink unsteadily like he couldn’t quite see the doctor properly. “Sky, how much sleep have you gotten?”

It took Sky a few seconds too long to process the question. “Right, sleep, I uh…” He rubbed his face. “I slept a bit before this- this battle. A few hours.”

“Actual sleep?” the doctor probed. “How much of it did you spend awake and stressing?”

Sky paused. “A lot,” he admitted.

“How much deep sleep have you gotten over the past few days?”

“I don’t know, Quentin,” Sky groaned, his whole being  _ screaming _ exhaustion in the unsteadiness of his voice.

Quentin glanced up at Mitch. They’d all been on constant alert since their wall had exploded and had formed a serious security breach in the siege against them, but Sky hadn’t yet taken a break. Every little skirmish, he’d been there fighting, and he’d been to every meeting and every discussion no matter what time it was held. Their food supplies and ammunition were starting to look low, and the last thing they needed was for their General to collapse in the middle of a crucial moment.

“Sky, you’re off the front-lines, you need actual sleep,” Quentin ordered.

Sky reacted instantly, his exhaustion switching into boiling fury and he smacked the hand off his shoulder. “What? No way Quentin, I need to be here! We have a serious security breach and I’m not just letting recruits put their life on the line to defend the army while I’m off sleeping somewhere! Damn you and your advice, I’m not doing it!”

“Mitch can fight alongside the recruits just as well as you can,” Quentin tried to reason, gesturing to the Commander who was doing much better than their General. “You  _ need _ to sleep, Sky. We need you but we need you functioning, not like this.” He gestured to the way Sky swayed and the General instantly steadied himself, snarling.

“ _ I’m fine _ , Commander Quentin,” he growled. His use of the lower rank usually was a clear signal for them to back down and even some of the overhearing recruits cringed, but Quentin wouldn’t be deterred.

“General Sky, as the doctor  _ you _ personally assigned to look after your wellbeing, I’m telling you to rest. We can do this two ways. You can either walk yourself to a bed of your choice and I’ll give you medication to help you sleep without anxiety, or I’ll have you restrained in place until you can be sedated and then you’ll be put in a bed of  _ my _ choosing. Make your choice.”

Sky’s shoulders slouched at the sternly spoken words, his temporary energy leaving him terrifyingly fast. “I  _ can’t _ , Quentin,” he nearly pleaded. “What if something happens while I’m sleeping? What if I’m needed to help rally people? What if the wall explodes in a different place and we don’t have enough people on duty to shore up the defences? I  _ need _ to stay awake.”

Quentin stepped forward, gripping Sky’s shoulder firmly. “If anything happens, you can trust us to look after it, Sky. This is what we’re trained to do; Let us do our jobs.  _ Trust us _ to do our jobs. We need you, yes, but we need you at your best. When you’re like this, you’re only going to make bad decisions and get yourself and others hurt. The best way you can protect the army right now is to get some good, actual sleep.”

The sword dropping from Sky’s hand was the warning and Quentin quickly caught Sky as his legs sagged. The General’s limp head rested on his shoulder, taking shaking breaths. “Okay, okay maybe sleep would be good.”

“Come on, let’s get you a soft bed and a drink,” Quentin said, slinging Sky’s arm over his shoulder and holding onto him tightly as he helped him hobble away. Commander Mitch took charge instantly, sending recruits off to their own beds and getting fresh warriors onto the frontlines.

Quentin led Sky to one of the smaller infirmary buildings in the army, knowing that the other wouldn’t stay awake long enough to make it to the main building. A quick word to the nurse had her showing them to an empty room and walking to fulfill his request. The doctor led Sky to the bed, helping him to take off his armour, shoes and socks, followed by his long shirt. He had several small wounds across his chest and Quentin took the time to clean them.

The nurse returned with a glass of water and a small capped dropper bottle and Quentin took both with a thanks. He put a few drops from the bottle into the water and handed the glass to Sky. The General didn’t hesitate to drain the glass, thankful for the refreshing coolness. Quentin quickly helped him swing his legs up as Sky dropped off to sleep, pure exhaustion dragging him off. With the mild sedative he’d just taken, Quentin was confident that he’d get several hours of uninterrupted rest. Not a full cure, but the best cure he could give for now.


	25. You're not making any sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blindfolded, Sensory Deprivation  
> Characters: Dream, Tubbo
> 
> Dream and Tubbo were captured, chained and separated. One was forced to watch the other lose themselves to the all-consuming panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love big brother Dream little brother Tubbo and nothing can change my mind.
> 
> Sorry about my unexplained breaks, writing is hard XD

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t  _ see _ , and usually that was enough to set Dream struggling and fighting but he didn’t. He kept still, kept as outwardly calm as he could while his heart pounded painfully in his chest and his lungs were tight with fear. But he kept calm, as calm as he could because somewhere, his little brother was watching and if Tubbo saw Dream panicking, then Tubbo would panic too. And Dream didn’t want Tubbo to ever feel scared.

But neither of them really had a choice. The shackles on Dream’s wrists were just as bad as the blindfold and he would have lost it hours ago if he didn’t have the single phrase of  _ ‘Tubbo’s watching, don’t make Tubbo panic’ _ ringing around his mind. The worst part was that he couldn’t  _ see _ if Tubbo was in the room with him. There were noises; groans and quiet weeping and the clinking of shifting chains. And there were smells too; the stink of urine, the gagging tang of blood, the stench of humid bodies. But there was no sound of Tubbo’s soft voice and no familiar smell and no small body pressed to his arm. Perhaps Tubbo wasn’t in the same room or perhaps he was too far away to try and talk to his big brother. Dream didn’t risk it. He tried to keep himself calm.

Heavy boots often passed him and the others kept chained there, the occasional passing blow sounding thickly with a groan and then going silent again. Dream was tense at first. By now,he’d stopped paying them much heed. Until one pair stopped before him and he suddenly felt himself being yanked up, the chain connected his bound hands to the wall undone. He gave a shout of surprise, automatically struggling and then going still at the growled warning and the simmering words of  _ ‘Tubbo might be watching, don’t make Tubbo worry’ _ . 

He was dragged, he was manhandled, he was pushed in silence down hallways and across rooms he couldn’t hope to identify. He was hit to his knees, gasping at the pain that ran up his thighs. He would have blinked tears from his eyes if the blindfold wasn’t there and a moment later, it wasn’t, and he was blinking his eyes even at the low level of light coming from two orange-burning lanterns.

The room was small, and that didn’t help Dream’s panic levels. He liked open spaces and large rooms and the ability to move and twist and jump however he wanted. He wasn’t afraid of the small spaces (otherwise he never would have been able to win a manhunt), but he wanted to get in and get out freely. Ahead of him was a rough and dirty man with a dark face and lowered eyebrows. Behind him were two others, also dirty, with loaded crossbows in their hands and axes at their belts.

Diagonal to Dream, facing him and the rough man, was Tubbo.

Tubbo was on his knees like Dream was, his hands chained behind him like Dream’s. His green mid length shirt was dirty and crumpled and in the dim light, Dream saw a few flecks of blood on it. He had no blindfold and from the dirt around his eyes, he’d never been given one. A gag was in his mouth instead and his bright blue eyes were locked on his big brother, fear simmering in them with tears. Dream wanted to run to him and hold him tightly and brush his hair and whisper that everything was going to be okay. He wanted to stand up and fight the two men who stood to either side of his little brother, to beat them to a pulp until they swore with begs that they’d never touch Tubbo again. But he could do nothing. His fear made his stomach twist and clench and his self-control was hanging by a thin wire, but he summoned up the strength to give Tubbo a small smile and a tiny nod of  _ ‘It’ll be okay, I promise.’ _ Tubbo nodded back, his eyes welling with relief and love but the fear in them didn’t leave.

Dream expected threats. He expected snide remarks and the weedling of information that he didn’t know. He expected a warning. He got nothing. The man before him didn’t even nod and Dream saw no hand signal. Dream’s arm was pulled and a knife slashed his cheek and he gave a sharp scream that was borne out of overwhelming panic and a bit of surprise rather than pain. His shoulders were shoved to the ground, hands pushing them down. 

He flicked his head to Tubbo, his untouched cheek pressed to the gritty, dirty stone floor. The two men on either side of him had grabbed the boy’s shoulders and Dream saw tears on Tubbo’s cheeks as Dream felt hot blood on his own. He gave his brother a smile, trying to assure him that it was okay, that Dream wasn’t really that hurt. It didn’t work as his hair was grabbed and pulled and his expression contorted as his head was dragged up to look at the boots of the rough man.

His long turtleneck shirt was slashed from him, the tip of a blade brushing his skin. He was partly relieved, for the clothing made this humid environment even worse, but he was more fearful. He was exposed, both to these slavers and to his brother, his small collection of scars on display. A line along his spine was drawn with a sharp implement and he grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut but refusing to make a noise. His face was slapped, right on his cut and he gasped and spat at the man before him. The boot rose and collided with his mouth and now he gave a muffled cry, tasting blood in his aching teeth.

The next line traced his shoulders, then his waist, then across the sensitive inner parts of his arms and he was thrashing against them, pain and panic beginning to overcome the desperate thoughts of  _ ‘Tubbo’s here, Tubbo’s watching, don’t let him see this!’ _ A second line was drawn below the first on his cheek, then a third running perpendicular across them both, like some sort of tribal mark. It hurt, it hurt it hurt it hurt and then his arms were pulled back even tighter and the thin wire he hung from snapped.

He screamed, he thrashed, his legs scrambled up in the dirt. He was shoved down, he was slashed, he was cut. He was flipped over and his chest was decorated with red and liquid pain. His panic was all consuming, fighting against where he was hurt and hurting himself more. His logical thought had abandoned him, all sense of reasoning lost to his new hell. He was trapped, he was caged, he could hardly see, he could hardly hear.

Tubbo was forced to watch, pulling against his own guards and giving muffled cries through his gag with tears pouring over his face. He watched and cried as his brother thrashed on the ground, released from the hands of the slavers but he screamed like he was still being held. His rolling had made dirt stick to the blood smeared over his torso, his eyes dilated and his mouth foaming. They’d poisoned him with their blades, they’d poisoned him and Tubbo’s heart broke with each wailing cry his strong, confident big brother gave.

Dream couldn’t feel where he was. He couldn’t feel the ground at his back or his chest, couldn’t feel the cuffs tearing as his wrists as he desperately thrashed his hands. He couldn’t feel his legs, couldn’t feel his arms, couldn’t feel- couldn’t  _ see _ \- there was nothing outside the pain. There was nothing outside this choking that consumed him. There was  _ nothing _ outside his existence but this pain that tore at his soul, this hellscape that consumed his mind, that lulled him off to sleep in a world of darkness and silence. His own screams didn’t exist.

Tubbo cried harder as Dream’s struggling slowed, his body face down on the gritty and blood-stained floor, his eyes blank and his lips stained. His chest rose and fell with even breaths but though his eyes were looking right at his little brother, Tubbo knew he couldn’t be seen. He tried and failed to get free, to run to Dream, to hug him and cuddle close to him and stay there until he woke up and could tell Tubbo that it was all going to be okay, that they were going to be okay but he couldn’t.

He could only wail through his gag with tears blocking his vision as they picked up Dream’s poisoned, unconscious body, and dragged him away. Tubbo wasn’t allowed to follow. He was pulled up a few minutes later and manhandled in the opposite direction, his kicks and muffled screams doing nothing to stop him being taken further and further away from his big brother.


	26. I think I'll collapse right here, thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Disorientation, Blurred Vision  
> Characters: Tubbo, Dream
> 
> Tubbo's lost, he's hurt, and his head is pounding, but safe arms find him and carry him home. And the arms belong to.... Is it really you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third and final segment of day 4 and day 15! I love the bros.

_ In fact, he’d hardly realised that he’d collapsed to the ground, coughing and retching as his body burned from the inside out. His limbs sagged, exhausted, his eyes closing as a dim voice shouting in panic reached his ears. _

_ “Tubbo!” _

* * *

Tubbo felt like he couldn’t breathe, his head spinning and when he blinked his eyes open, the world tipped and flashed a thousand colours that blurred together in a horrible mess and he groaned, feeling the need to throw up his empty stomach. He was hungry, he felt feverish and sick, the world was too quiet and too  _ loud _ as something ran up to him, a worried voice calling out.

“Tubbo! Tubbo, are you okay- You’re not okay,  _ shit _ Tubbo, can you hear me? Tubbo!”

A whimper came from the boy as he felt hands grip his arms, a palm brushing back his hair but he couldn’t form words with the spinning and pounding in his head, his eyes squeezed shut. The voice didn’t belong to Tommy, nor Philza nor Techno nor Wilbur. In his state, he couldn’t figure out  _ who _ the voice belonged to or why he got a feeling of fear and dread at hearing it and some of it must have shown on his face because the tone of the voice suddenly changed to something much softer and calmer, the hand tentatively brushing his face.

“Hey, it’s okay Tubbo, I’m going to look after you, okay?” the voice promised. “Big brother’s got you, okay?”

Another whimper came from the boy as he felt strong arms gently lifting him up, the voice soothing him as he was raised and held warmly against a chest, his head falling against a padded shoulder. He knew he was being carried because he could feel the small sways of his body as the person walked and could see flashes of light through his eyelids from the dappled cover of the trees. A groan slipped past his lips, turning his head towards the chest to try and block out those horrible lights which made his dizziness worse and he felt his chest tightening with each breath.

“It’s okay Tubbo, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” the voice whispered, close to his ear and a bit more familiar. He knew it from somewhere. “What’s wrong?”

“Bright,” Tubbo managed to murmur with a wince as they passed under yet another patch of early morning sunlight. “Hurts.”

“I know, I know, it’s okay. Here.” He was lowered, propped up against something that felt like a knee. The arms left him momentarily and a few moments later, he felt something being put against his face, only covering from his forehead to the top of his mouth with a strap going around his head. Its presence blocked the light and put some grounding pressure on his face, instantly dimming the throbbing headache. “There, better?”

Tubbo hummed, his eyes briefly fluttering open and then back closed. The arms picked him up again and his head rested in the crook of the voice’s neck. He was tired. He was  _ so _ tired. He’d been awake all night, caught in a permanent state of terror and pain and now that he was being carried,  _ safe _ , the terror had left and he was growing numb to the pain. Or maybe he was growing distant.

“Stay awake Tubbo, don’t fall asleep on me,” the voice said, picking up its pace while trying to keep the injured boy as still as possible. “I’ve got you, I’ll get someone to help with your cuts, okay? Stay awake, we’re nearly there.”

Another hum sounded, Tubbo struggling against the nearly overwhelming urge to drift off. Breathing pained his lungs and his head was pounding enough for him to want to cry. The thing on his face stopped the lights from flashing in his eyes but he felt like every sound was being amplified, especially when new voices shouted out.

“Hey D- Wait, is that  _ Tubbo _ ?”

“Wait, I thought he was missing, how did you find him, Dr-”

“Where’s Phil?” came the voice from above him, the arms holding him protectively.

“Over there, in his house like usual. Hey wait-”

They’d already moved off, leaving the new voices behind. Tubbo scrunched up his face in discomfort at the chaos of the busy marketplace of the- the city? They were back in the city, he thought. Wait did- Phil? He was going to Philza? The voice gently spoke to him in tones and words that relaxed his body again and he relaxed his head in the shoulder of the one who carried him.

Unbeknownst to the aching boy, the cityfolk paused their tasks to turn and stare as the two walked past, the younger being carried by the older. They stared because they were an unlikely duo, often considered to be on enemy sides and yet one was comforting the other in whispers. They stared because one was covered in blood and was being carried limply, though his chest stirred with air. They stared because one had his face bare for the first time, open for the world to see.

It was a few minutes later when a voice became clear enough for Tubbo to hear and understand and Tommy! It was Tommy and relief flickered through his veins as he heard his brother shouting. “Tubbo! Who the-  _ Dream _ ! Why are you carrying Tubbo you bastard, put him down-”

“Back off, Tommy!” the voice carrying him warned, and the arms around him tightened a little. “Where’s Phil?”

“Oh no, you are  _ not _ going inside the house,” Tommy growled. “Give him to me and  _ I’ll _ take him inside.”

“I’m not playing your games, Tommy,” the voice - wait, Dream? Dream’s voice? - snapped. “You really think I’m going to hurt him now when I just carried him all the way from the eastern woods?”

“He’s  _ my  _ adopted brother, Dream-”

“Well he’s  **_MY_ ** _ blood  _ brother, so back off!” Dream’s voice yelled, his words harsh and sharp but his arms ever so gentle.

Tubbo heard a door opening and a voice deeper than the two, a voice that sent warm shivers of home through him, spoke. “What’s happening out here?” There was silence for a moment. “Bring him inside.”

“Phil-”

“Not now, Tommy. Trust me.”

The injured one was carried some more until Philza’s voice said “Here” and he felt himself being lowered onto a soft, flat surface. He whimpered as the movement meant that his injured arm dropped and swayed by his side and Dream’s voice quietly shushed him, a hand brushing through his hair.

“Why’s he wearing your mask?" Philza asked, coming from a place a bit further away and Tubbo heard drawers opening and closing. 

“The sunlight was paining him,” Dream explained from beside Tubbo. His hand was still gently brushing his hair, the strangely comforting gesture sending warm currents through him. “You can help him, right?” His voice was worried.

“Of course, Dream.” Footsteps came back over and Tubbo heard the sigh of the avian as he knelt next to the bed Tubbo lay on, the mask gently being lifted from his face. “He looks more exhausted than anything.” The rough bandage around his waist was lifted and Tubbo whimpered as he felt the skin break again. “Hm. That’s a bad one.”

“Can I help?”

“‘Course. Here, go fill that up with water and bring it back, kitchen’s off to the right. Ask Tommy to bring a few blankets too, if you see him.”

The next hour or minutes were a sort of strange, surreal blur for Tubbo. He felt his shirt being removed and his skin being cleaned and things wrapped around it, cold fingers gently feeling for where he was injured. His eyes fluttered open once or twice, seeing Phil’s blurred outline with his green and white hat and a second face he didn’t recognise, but he knew the green hoodie Dream wore. He faintly heard Tommy come in and then leave again, and something heavy but warm be put over his legs and he was given something cool to drink. 

“Hey, stay awake for me Tubbo, just a little bit longer,” came Dream’s voice again, his hand (slightly damp) brushing back the boy’s hair once more. Tubbo tried to speak but what came out was a vague mumble of acknowledgement. His breathing was steady and by all appearances, he wasn’t in as much pain as earlier. 

There was the sound of something crashing and Tommy giving an annoyed shout, and then  _ another _ voice (Sapnap, it sent shivers down Tubbo’s spine and legs), spoke rapidly. “Dream! I- wow, you  _ do _ have your mask off, I thought Bad lied-”

“What do you want, Sapnap?” Dream snarled, his hand leaving Tubbo’s hair.

“Okay look, I can explain but how was I to know that he was going to get lost in the forest-”

“ _ You _ did this to him?!” Even with his eyes closed and only semi-conscious, Tubbo could easily imagine the fury on Dream’s face and in his body as he stood rapidly, no doubt with his fists clenched tight.

“Hey hey, I-I only collapsed that old abandoned house on him, I didn’t-”

“ _ YOU TRIED TO  _ **_KILL_ ** _ MY  _ **_BROTHER_ ** _?!” _

“Hey- Wait, your  _ what _ -”

“Take it outside, you’re being too loud for him,” came Phil’s warning upon seeing the boy’s face scrunch up and after a few seconds, footsteps stomped from the room but the door was closed quietly and he didn’t hear anymore.

Tubbo felt his sore arm being moved and he shifted, winced, whimpering. “Phil-”

The hybrid gently shushed him, taking the moment to replace Dream’s hand. “It’s okay, Tubbo. You’re okay now. You can sleep if you want.”

So Tubbo did.

When he woke up, he felt horrible and dizzy and shaky but the pain in the cuts on his arm and across his stomach had dulled, most of his discomfort coming from his headache. He made a frown, feeling it in his expression as he flickered his eyes open, his eyelids heavy. His vision was blurred and the world spun slowly but the room was dim and the low light didn’t increase the pounding headache. He took a deep breath, wincing at how it hurt.

“Hey, you’re awake, how- how do you feel?”

Tubbo turned his head towards the voice, the same voice that had called to him in the forest in the early morning, the same voice that had whispered comfortingly to him throughout the day; the voice of Dream. He had to blink a few times, his vision coming into focus. The man wasn’t wearing his mask, showing off his worry-filled eyes, his hand gently brushing a few strands of Tubbo’s hair from his face before pulling his arm back, crossing them on the bed as he watched the boy’s face slowly fill with curiosity.

“Your eyes are blue,” Tubbo managed to murmur, Dream’s question slipping from his mind. “L-Like mine.” The connection he had tiredly managed to make was a strange one. He thought Dream had green eyes, like the hoodie that he was always wearing. Everyone thought that Dream had green eyes, and he was pretty sure (maybe?) that Dream himself had said that he had green eyes. But here they were; a deep, nearly murky blue, duller than Tommy’s but  _ identical _ to Tubbo’s.

Dream gave a small, quiet chuckle. “Yeah, yeah like yours,” he whispered. 

“Were they always like that?”

The elder nodded, a kind of sad smile coming on his face. “Yeah, they always were. It's why I wore the mask, so… so people wouldn’t know.”

“Wouldn’t know what?” The talking was making Tubbo a bit dizzy, so that he couldn't quite catch whether it was fear that flickered across Dream’s face, or just something similar to it.

The unmasked man spoke a little haltingly. “Do… Tubbo, do… do you remember someone…” He took a breath. “Do you remember much about your birth family?”

Tubbo frowned, trying to think through the haze. Or maybe the haze was making it easier to think because he had the answer in only a handful of seconds. “Y-Yeah. I had my Ma, but I didn’t have my Da, and… I had an older brother. C-Clay. He left me with Philza to take care of me when Ma died and he said we had to leave home.” He met Dream’s blue eyes again, some of the fog fading from his gaze as he recalled the disembodied voices of earlier. “You’re… You called me your brother.” Another heartbeat passed. “Is your real name Dream?”

Dream shook his head a little, dropping his gaze from Tubbo’s face, his fingers twisting around each other. “N-No, it’s not. I named myself Dream because I… I wasn’t sure if you… If you wanted me in your life anymore. I didn’t want anyone else to know if you weren’t comfortable with it, but…” He nodded, looking back up. “My real name’s Clay. Clay Underscore. Like you.”

“Tubbo Underscore,” the boy recalled. The realization made him a bit more awake and a bit more aware, and he could see that the roots of Dream’s dirty blond hair - the parts hidden under his usual mask - were as brown as Tubbo’s. “You dye your hair.”

Dream nodded, a grin creeping across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I-I do. Again, so people don’t suspect anything.” His hand hesitantly reached up, gently brushing back the soft brown hair of the other.

“You’re… You’re my brother,” Tubbo whispered as he met Dream-  _ Clay’s  _ eyes, the eyes that matched his own and he suddenly remembered the few treasured years of his young childhood staring up at them. “You’re Clay. My Clay.”

Clay nodded, tears building up in those murky blue eyes and he leaned closer, letting their foreheads touch and it was such a  _ reminder _ of those times before Phil that Tubbo felt like he was going to cry. “Yeah, I’m Clay. Big brother Clay.” His hand had moved to rest on the side of Tubbo’s face. “Big brother Clay is here now, Tubbo.”

Tubbo sniffed, tears gathering in his eyes. “I missed you, Clay. I-I thought you’d forgotten about me. You told me that you’d come back for me when it was safe b-but you didn’t…”

“No no, Tubbo, no, I’ve never forgotten,” Clay told him, wiping away the tears with an achingly sad smile and leaning back. “I never forgot about you, not once. I- I thought you’d forgotten about  _ me _ , I thought you were happier with Phil and Tommy and all of your new brothers than you would be with me. That’s why I-I pretended to be a stranger, so that I could watch and make sure you stayed safe and loved by them.” A different kind of tears started prickling at Clay’s eyes. “I-I’m  _ so sorry _ for what Sapnap did, I-I don’t know what got into him. If I’d known what he was up to, I never would have let him hurt you, I swear.”

“He dropped a building on me,” Tubbo murmured, his eyes fluttering closed. “I got out as it was falling. Then I got lost in the woods. A skeleton shot me and I had to use my magic to heal me. And a few endermen tried to kill me, and zombies tried to eat me, and I had to use my magic all night to fight them off.”

“I’m so sorry,” Clay whispered again. “I’m so so sorry.”

Tubbo sniffed, flickering his eyes open again to look up at Clay. “Y-You won’t leave again, r-right Clay?”

“Never.” Clay leaned down, lightly kissing Tubbo’s forehead and then resting the tops of their heads together, their noses touching, his hand brushing the younger’s hair. “I promise I’ll never leave again. I won’t let you get hurt again, okay? You’ll be safe now. Big brother is here. I’m here, Tubbo.”

The younger brother reached up with his good arm and wrapped it around his lost older brother. “I love you, Clay,” he mumbled, both tired and full of joy. Clay hugged him back tightly. “I love you too, Tubbo.  _ So _ much.”


	27. If you thought the head trauma was bad...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Concussion  
> Character: Technoblade, Philza, Dream
> 
> Courtesy of Dream's impulsiveness, everyone's treated to a month-long holiday at a holiday home. Techno nearly immediately hits his head and suffers.

Techno grumbled, rubbing the bruise on the back of his head as he slouched down the stairs of the large two-story house they’d rented. And by ‘they’, he meant Dream, who’d been as impulsive as usual and had rented this place out for a full month and invited them all along. Techno hadn’t been planning on going, but Tommy and Tubbo were coming which meant that Ranboo wanted to come and Wilbur was here and Philza assured him that it wouldn’t be that bad, so he’d agreed to join them. The trip here had been unbearable. Staying in the same house as all of the aforementioned plus Dream, George, Sapnap, Karl, even Eret, was only slightly better.

And it’d became a whole lot worse when, only three days into the trip, he was just trying to relax and gain some space to himself in this ‘holiday’ place when the children had burst through into his space and somehow, Techno couldn’t  _ exactly _ remember how, he was thrown off the balcony he’d been on and hit his head on the way down. 

Philza had scolded the boys in Techno’s absence as the hybrid grumbled and locked himself in the silence of his room so he wouldn’t murder any children (which probably would bring the holiday to an early finish). All three had come to apologise on their own and in their own way, Ranboo virtually on the verge of tears which had made Techno  _ awfully _ uncomfortable but after being told that he didn’t hold Ranboo accountable and certainly couldn’t stay angry at him, it’d been okay.

Except his headache had continued, fading and resurfacing, even now, two days later when he came out of his room for one of his infrequent visits to the common areas. Thankfully, the three minors were still sleeping after their series of late nights (and Notch, had they been  _ loud _ ) which left only a handful of adults in the kitchen area when Techno slouched in.

“Morning Techno!” Dream said happily, cutting off his conversation with Sapnap and Karl on the island in the centre. The latter had a bowl of porridge or something in front of him while the other two had plates, the masked man (but his mask was lying on the table beside him) waving with his fork.

Techno grunted in greeting, opening a cupboard and not finding anything initially. He resolved to shutting it and snatching some sliced bread from the counter, cooking it in the toaster.

“How’s your head?” Karl asked a bit worriedly.

“Peachy.” Techno had his back to them and his arms crossed as he glared at the toaster. He was feeling irritable. Mind you, he was  _ always _ feeling a bit irritable, but it usually faded when Philza entered the room like he did now. This time, it didn’t. 

“Morning, Techno,” Philza said quietly as he opened the cupboard Techno had abandoned. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know why everyone’s suddenly so concerned for my health,” Techno grumbled back, giving up on the toast. He popped it out and grabbed it with his bare hands, ripping a bite out of it. Philza said something and it was a bit strange because the world suddenly became a bit blurry, like Techno was experiencing it through a thick layer of bubble wrap, feeling his legs turning to fuzz under him. He blinked the sudden dazed spell away, growling at how many times he’d gotten it in the past day or so. That’s what he gets for not eating enough but the toast should settle his queasy stomach.

“Uh, sure,” he said to Philza when he realised that the tall man had been waiting for an answer to whatever he’d said.

Behind Techno’s back, Philza gave a concerned glance to the three eating breakfast, knowing that the piglin hybrid hadn’t heard his question and more importantly, that he’d swayed in place slightly. Two of them returned the glance but Dream had his focus on Techno, eyes narrowed in attention. Techno’s long pink hair was unusually caught up in a messy ponytail, clearly not having been washed for some days and lacking the usual care he showed to it. He never met people’s eyes but the warrior could see that the maroon orbs had a foreign, fuzzy edge to them. He hadn’t been around when Techno had hit his head and had trusted the other to take care of it by himself with Philza’s help, but…

Dream glanced up at Philza and nodded his head to Techno, motioning for the taller to push his case. Philza nodded back and followed as Techno walked out of the kitchen, his pointed ears flicking a few times at the sound of the other hybrid’s feet. “Techno?”

“Going back to my room,” Techno grumbled, ripping another bite out of the plain toast, approaching the stairs.

“Have you had anything to drink?” Philza asked. He wasn’t Techno’s father, more like an old friend who had become something as close to family as Techno allowed but he knew that Techno sometimes forgot the simple things in life, such as the fact that he needed nutrients and rest and the fact that he was mortal.

“Mhm,” Techno hummed distractedly, mounting the stairs.

Philza knew Techno had hardly heard him and his worry grew. It wasn’t like him to ignore the older like this. “Techno, would you mind staying-  _ Techno! _ ”

He leapt forward with the cry as Techno suddenly tipped, his back hitting the wall and his legs collapsing out from under him and he spilled on the steps. His toast fell from his hands and his eyes blinked dazedly up at Phil, who was by his side in an instant. The older put his hands to either side of Techno’s face, his heart fluttering worriedly as he didn’t see any recognition in the hybrid’s eyes.

“Dream!” Phil shouted, his mind leaping to the only other person he knew with medical knowledge.

“Here,” said the speedrunner, already in the room and leaping up in one smooth jump to be beside the two. Phil moved aside to let Dream take control, his fingers feeling for the bump on Techno’s head, moving his hair. “Techno, hey, can you hear me?”

“W-What- What happened?” Techno asked with a tone edged with distress, blinking several times. His face was pale and his hands were trying to scrabble for purchase on the smooth wall.

“It’s okay, you just fell over,” Dream assured him, leaning forward to get a better look at the injury hidden by the thick pink hair. “How do you feel, Techno? Are you dizzy?”

Techno hummed, eyes fluttering. “Dizzy. Sick. I fell? I had toast… What happened?”

The sentiment was echoed a moment later by Tommy as the boy walked down the stairs with a yawn. “Morning idiots- Techno?! What happened?!”

“It’s okay Tommy, we’ve got it,” Philza assured him as he lightly put a hand to Techno’s chest, his worry fading slightly as Techno’s hand left the wall to hold onto it, blinking.

Dream was muttering to himself. “Purple bruise, dizzy, sick, memory loss, acting dazed, losing balance… Yeah you’ve got a bad concussion, Techno.”

The hybrid grunted, huffing. “How do we treat it?” Philza asked.

Dream held up his hands a bit helplessly. “We can’t do much other than let his brain heal by itself. He’s got to get rest but not in a quiet room with no stimulus which is what he’s been doing so that sure hasn’t helped.”

The speedrunner went to help Techno sit up and Philza was quick to assist, Tommy watching and shushing Tubbo and Ranboo who came down a few moments later, both gasping at the sight. Techno was unsteady on his feet but the movement at least seemed to bring back his ability to see as they walked him back to the common rooms and sat him down on the couch. 

“Techno, you’re not allowed to be alone in your room, okay?” Dream ordered as Philza went to get the hybrid a drink. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

Techno growled a bit, getting back to his normal self. “Since when did I let you tell me what to do, Dream?”

“Since you smacked your head and got a concussion and didn’t tell anyone about it,” Dream said back easily. “You can go back to being alone in a few days after I’m sure that your concussion is better. Got it?” The maroon eyes narrowed at the green ones which stared evenly back. “Fine,” Techno grumbled at last. This holiday was going to be  _ awful _ .


	28. Okay, who had natural disasters on their 2020 bingo card?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Extreme Weather  
> Characters: Dream, Skydoesminecraft ft. a lot of others
> 
> In a council with the gods, a light-hearted argument quickly turns into a screaming match which tears at the mortal realm and doesn't leave the godly realm unscathed either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Dream & Skydoesminecraft AUs.
> 
> I'm slightly ashamed to admit that I got very carried away with this one-shot and have made an entire god AU around it containing every Minecraft youtuber I can think of and a whole lore and history behind it and uhhh that might be the next book I write? Maybe? Who knows.  
> If you have any questions about this AU, feel free to ask in the comments and don't be afraid when I go on a ramble.

Wind howled through trees that stubbornly bore the screaming tantrum that attempted to tear up the roots and rip mountains from their foothills. It cried with fury as it tore at the waves that rose to meet it, the two thrashing against each other but the wind inevitably ripped apart the water which crashed unforgivingly against the earthen shore. Torches and fires were snuffed out in the howling wind that never seemed satisfied by its destruction.

The ferocious storm had been going on for days and while most believed it to be a spell of bad luck, some swore that it was the fury of the gods unleashing on the world. And they were right, for in the council of the gods, situated in the godly realms that remained somewhat separate from the mortal one, the gods were arguing.

It had started when Earth and Music had one of their usual spits, more borne out of habit and a deep respect for each other that neither would admit. Fighting had become a sort of love language for them and though it irked the other gods at times, they let it play out. Today, though, Earth had suddenly brought Water into the fight, which then prompted Wind to get involved to defend him. The three-way fight suddenly became a three-on-one as Wind snapped something to Water who snapped back and Wind - always feisty, always quick to rage without warning just as he was quick to settle without notice - turned on all of them.

The sudden aggression had led to the council dissolving into a furious screaming pit, Wind attacking Water who fought back with Earth and Fire backing him up. Music had pulled out of the fight, uncomfortable with the topic shift. While Music would never miss an opportunity to poke at Earth’s buttons, he was usually a mild-mannered god who was much more comfortable in a quiet room with his guitar and harp than with the noise and commotion of the council. 

Other gods tried to keep their noses out of it all. Sky was hunched down in his chair, fiddling with the star clasp of his cloak. The god of Celestials was beside him, wings flared comfortably on the specialised seat that accommodated the huge set of limbs. It was unusual to see him without one of the two gods of War nearby, but thankfully, neither had been able to attend the meeting. The three gods of Magic were in their own quiet conversation, often glancing over to the screaming four. The Hybrid god was rather relaxed, even bored or annoyed, with the arguing as he cleaned his dragon-like claws.

At the head of the table sat the last two gods at this council; Life and Death. Life was stern, grave even, with his golden yellow eyes of pure sunlight watching the four younger gods fight and argue and insult. He didn’t speak but rather watched. The god sitting beside him fidgeted and looked with innocent eagerness and opened his mouth to join in several times, each time forestalled by Life muttering a quiet “Death…” to him which made his mouth _ clop _ shut.

“You’re always like this, Dream!” Water yelled at Wind, hands slamming onto the table with the boom of tidal waves destroying a waterfront pier. “You’re always so defensive, always so quick to attack others but never looking at your own flaws!”

“You have no right to accuse me, George!” Wind snapped back. The mortal names of the gods had come out rather early in the fight and it did nothing to ease the tensions. Nearly all the gods here knew the mortal names of the others, but they always preferred to refer to each other by their titles. “You’re always off brooding in your little underwater kingdom, never caring to show up and then complaining when you’re left out of all the meetings! You always blame someone else, you never just take the blame!”

“It’s not his fault he misses things!” Fire interrupted. “It’s  _ your _ job to call us to the meetings, Dream! You’re the one who’s supposed to make sure he knows these things are happening, you’re the messenger!”

“And you’re pretty shit at your job if you ask me,” Earth chuckled.

“Schlatt, please, you’re not helping,” Music muttered from nearby but the Earth god just waved him off, winking. Fighting with this trio was just as fun as fighting Mr. Wilbur Music over there, and Schlatt wasn’t about to miss out.

Wind’s snarl darkened, his clothes flicking around him in an intangible gust. “I  _ try _ , Sapnap!” he growled to Fire. “I try and he always just waves me off like I’m not important! Waves me off as a lesser god just because he gets the big bad ocean!”

“Well I  _ do _ , Dream!” Water laughed darkly. “I get the whole ocean while you’re just a  _ baby little breeze _ -”

“ _ SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! _ ” Dream screamed. Wind suddenly picked up in the council room, banging open the windows and the huge double doors slammed open but a flick from Life’s hand stilled the room again, though not the four arguers.

“Death,” Life warned quietly for the millionth time as the other god rose to give an excited insult.

Death whined and slouched back down. “But Liiiiiiife, it looks like so much fuuuuuuun,” he pouted.

“Halo,” Life whispered. “ _ Null _ . We have to stay neutral. We have too much power to risk getting angry at the other gods, we could cause damage that neither of us can revert.  _ Please _ .”

Death pouted more but he relented. “Okay Sky. I’ll stay neutral.”

“Thank you,” Life said gratefully.

“ _ I HATE YOU! _ ” came the sudden scream that drew both gods’ attentions back to the table, where Dream’s usually masked face had cleared to put his blazing green eyes on full display, tears shining in them and spit flying from his mouth as he screamed. “ _ I HATE ALL OF YOU! I’M DONE! I’M OVER THIS! _ ”

His form shifted into a howling gale that threw itself screaming at George across the table, the god of Water throwing himself backwards in panic. Life flicked his hand again and the gale went flying across the room, the god still screaming in his gaseous form. He screeched and wailed and roared from the council room, the force of his wind slamming the huge, heavy double doors wide open as he fled.

The other gods instantly began clamouring amongst themselves, their voices rising in complaint until Life suddenly stood with a wave of golden force that cracked with his booming command of  _ “ENOUGH!” _ . The force of it threw the other gods into their chairs and all were silent as the head god silently retook his seat.

Elsewhere, storms lashed the coast and roared through the air and the relentless wind pounded every available surface, and Dream let himself be carried in his rage and his pain, throwing himself far across the mortal realm until he couldn’t take it anymore. He screamed, and he threw his head back and screamed his throat raw, the winds howling and screeching and roaring around him in a funnel in which he was lost. The tumultuous air was in tune with his rawest emotions and it tore through the forest he was in, ripping it to shreds that would have torn his skin apart had he been corporeal.

It did nothing to ease the pain inside but even gods grew tired and he was kneeling on the ground, hunched over his knees with his arms tucked around himself, sobbing and crying and giving wails from deep inside his godly soul. If anything, his fit of anger had only served to make him feel worse and his nails dug into his skin as tears poured down his face.

He knew he wasn’t alone when he could sense the godly aura approaching him in his clearing of wreckage and woodchips. He was rather surprised that he hadn’t noticed it sooner, the owner of the aura purposefully sending it out so that he would know they were coming. Wind tried to pull himself together but he choked on air (ironic, wasn’t it?) as he tried wiping the tears from his face.

Life was quiet as he approached, sensing the distress of the soul as he came closer and closer, his knee-length boots making no noise on the ground. He knelt beside the weeping god, setting his hands in his lap. He said nothing, leaving it for the other to initiate the conversation when he was ready.

“What do you want, Sky?” Dream finally half-snapped through gasps. He had his head turned away from the older god, continually wiping his eyes. He was so tired. Was this how gods died?

“I wanted to check on you, Dream,” Life told him. Wind could feel the worried golden eyes piercing him. The state of the once-wooded area was enough to say how the younger was feeling.

“Y-You’re just going to m-make me come back,” Dream choked, coughing. All his screaming and crying had made it hard to talk and even harder to breathe. “I-I was s-serious, Sky. I-I’m not going back. I-I’ll… I’ll give away my god role, I’ll surrender my- my immortality, I’ll-”

“Clay.”

The name sent an electric shock through the god and he jerked away, his crying halting all at once as he stared at Life with mouth dropped open and eyes wide and unblinking. First, they were full of surprise. Then, they were full of fear. He’d never told anyone that name. He’d never spoken it to a single creature, hardly ever breathed it to himself. To even  _ know _ the  _ true  _ name of a god - not even the mortal name, but the true  _ soul _ name - was completely taboo, and to  _ speak _ it…

Sky’s hand lightly touched Dream’s cheek, cupping it, and he gasped at the contact, suddenly returning to earth ( _ how ironic _ ). “H-How-How do- How do you-”

“I just do,” Sky answered simply. “I’ve known for a long time. But I won’t speak it unless you need it. I swear on the souls of all the beings in all the realms.”

Dream believed him and he nodded, still recovering from the shock of it. He’d heard that someone who knew the true name of a god could bend that god to their will, control them,  _ manipulate _ them. But one look and Dream knew that Sky wouldn’t take that path, not like his father had before him. 

Sky’s hand stayed on the Wind’s cheek as he spoke gently. “You are a god, Dream. You’re the god of Wind, no less. You’re fast, you’re agile, you’re able to cross the world in a heartbeat, free of the confines many of the rest of us face. You’re chaotic too, prone to shifting moods as fast as the wind shifts its direction and to changing from a soft breeze to a roaring gale with no provocation.”

“I know this,” Dream sniffed, wiping his face. “Why are you telling me?”

Life smiled. “Because you forget. You forget the gift that you are, Dream. All the other gods; Water, War, Earth, Music, even me - we’ve all had our roles passed down to us from those who held it before. And those roles had been passed down to  _ them _ from the ones who held it previously. But  _ you _ , Dream. You were formed by the universe itself, brought into being to be our saviour in the God War. You are the very first god of Wind,  _ born _ a god. You’re a blessing.”

Dream looked away, taking his face from Sky’s hand. “It doesn’t feel like it most of the time.”

Life sighed, putting his hand into his lap. “I know it doesn’t. But it’s true. Most of us had time to adjust to our roles before we fully assumed it, either because we’d been around gods for most of our lives or because we had the god before us to help. But you were never given the chance to adjust: You were thrown straight into godly power and straight into the war with only the knowledge that the universe had given you. You’re still a young god, even for all your power and experience. You’re still learning how to control your strengths and you’re going to make mistakes and destroy a few cities in the process.”

“But that’s why I’m here,” Life continued. “This isn’t something you’re supposed to learn alone, Dream. Just like I need Death to help me maintain the balance of life, and one side of War needs Celestial to control his bloodlust, you need steadiness to offset your chaotic energy. You need someone to lean on, someone to anchor you. And it will take time but we’ll find the soul that will help to steady you, Wind. It’s my task to keep the balance in the gods, Wind. Let me be your balance, just for now, until we find someone permanent.”

Wind nodded, a quiet, desperate “Please” slipping past his lips. He needed that balance. He was desperate for it, and even the mere talk about it had settled his soul. Life nodded, smiling warmly and standing, holding out a hand. Wind took it and stood; two gods standing upon the mortal earth in the ruins of a god’s distress.


	29. Such wow. Many normal. Very oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidents  
> Characters: Technoblade, Dream
> 
> Dream accidentally injures himself for life. Techno 'accidentally' gives into the bloodthirsty voices in his head. They both accidentally let the other know their secrets.

“Again.”

Techno gave a small grunt of annoyance, hefting up his axe. His limbs were shaking from the hours of training and his stomach was twisting with hunger pains but he’d be given no break until he met their satisfactions. He couldn’t even try to intimidate them; he only  _ just _ reached the shoulder height of most of the trainers and his piglin tusks had started to protrude from his lips only last month. He was, in every way, still a young child. But they didn’t care.

“Did I hear a complaint from you, Trainee?”

“No, Master. I do not complain. I am the Blade,” Techno recited in a toneless voice.

“You will be the Blade when you complete your training. Again!”

He didn’t have a choice. As he executed the set of routine movements that had become so ingrained into him that he sometimes dreamt about them, he idly listened to the voices in the back of his mind. They chafed under the strict control that decided when he would eat, when he would sleep, when he would rest, and when he would kill. They wanted freedom. They wanted  **_blood_ ** . And Techno was all too obliged to agree.

“Enough,” his Master said curtly, which allowed Techno to relax his stance and drop his axe, holding it loosely in his hands. “Return to your room.”

The Master stalked off but Techno didn’t move. His deep brown eyes clouded with red, voices rising to a roar in his ears. His grip tightened on the rough handle, his gaze boring into the back of his ‘Master’. He pulled back his lips, showing off his growing tusks a little bit more and he raised his axe, rearing back his arm. With practised, deadly, and deliberate presion, the Blood God flung the axe forward, the handle leaving his hand and spinning as it flew across the room. The slight blunted nature of the axe head wasn’t enough to stop it as it buried itself into the Master’s back, who fell with a gurgled cry and didn’t move again.

Techno blinked, the blood haze fading from him as the voices cried in victory and then went silent. He felt no remorse as he looked down at the body of the man he’d killed, blood still running from the sides of the axe. Emotionlessly, he walked over and pulled it out, heedless of any blood that flicked onto him. It was time to leave. The Blade was  _ finished _ .

* * *

“Dream, careful!”

The warning came just in time as Dream tripped over the roots protruding from the ground, managing to slow himself just enough as he fell and rolled, curling up into a ball with dust and rocks digging into his shirt and skin. Had he been going any faster, he would have easily broken his legs or even his spine but as it was, he only received aches, bruises, and small cuts. When he felt himself come to a stop, he slowly picked his body up with a groan, shaking his head.

Footsteps ran up to him and hands helped him stand and dusted him off. “I told you not to push yourself, kid!” the adult admonished, tutting at the cuts he’d received.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Dream apologised, coughing and wiping the dirt from his face. He picked up his feet and swung his arms a little, making sure nothing was damaged and to his relief, he was fine. 

He raised his eyes to his trainer (He supposed that he could call her a guardian since the older woman had been looking after him for a few years now, but she started as his trainer and then had kinda adopted him after the accident). Her eyebrows were low but her eyes were as warm as always.

“Don’t tear yourself up like this, kiddo,” she said. “You’re only going to get the pain with no gain, you understand?”

“I understand.” Dream dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Puffy.”

Her sigh told him that she’d gone soft again. “It’s okay, Dream. I know you just want to be the best you can be, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself doing it. Come inside, I’ll clean the cuts and then we can have some dinner, okay?”

Dream had nodded, and dinner had been nice, but he’d snuck out again after dark and when Puffy had gone to bed. He’d been  _ so close _ , he knew he could run faster and he could feel the speed of his agility waiting below his skin, he just needed to trigger it. He just needed to  _ run _ . And  _ then _ he would be the best he could be.

He started running around the horse track Puffy had, slowly building up speed until he was practically flying. He ran wider, edging ever closer to those roots that had become his obstacle course. Taking a breath, he went at it again, his eyes wide as he dodged and placed his feet lightly. For a moment, he thought he had got himself stuck but with a whoop of delight, he cleared it and ran free, laughing and cheering-

And then giving a cry as something tore in both his legs.

Later, he’d know that he’d completely ripped apart the muscles in both of his calves, tearing them to shreds. On that night, though, all he knew was that he was on the ground and in horrible pain as the night grew colder and colder and he lost the strength to cry out for help. Puffy had found him early the next morning but the damage had been done.

* * *

If Techno had gotten a choice about who would be protecting his back, it would  _ not _ have been Dream. The man was much too chaotic and impulsive and gave too many smart comments for Techno’s liking but he was a good warrior, a bold one, with a strategic mind that rivaled Techno’s. But still, he would  _ not _ have chosen to have Dream against his back as the two held up their axes and shields up against the mob that had surrounded them. Techno’s lips curled from his long tusks. The mob was a patchwork of armour and weapons sporting rust. Abysmal.

Dream’s back pushed further against his and he heard the other man mutter behind his mask. “So, have any plans, Techno Blade?”

“Don’t die,” Techno grunted back. 

“Oh geez, thanks oh great and wise warrior, got any other groundbreaking advice?” Dream sassed.

“Shut your mouth and make yourself useful. I have a crossbow I could load with a firework and blast this crowd to the gates of hell but I need you to cover me while I do it.”

He could virtually hear the gears in Dream’s head turning as he tried to figure out a way to defend Techno against this mob that had encircled them. Techo didn’t expect him to figure out a way, so he was rather surprised when he heard the man behind him say “Do it quick. Warn me when you’re about to shoot it.”

There was the  _ thunk _ of an axe being buried in the ground (a stupid action, it blunted the blade) and Dream hefted his shield and then - and Techno didn’t know  _ how _ \- but there was a blur of colour as Dream ran too fast for what was physically possible. His speed and his raised shield threw back the crowd, forcing a clear ring around Techno.

The hybrid only stared for a minute before he himself lept into action, slinging his axe onto his belt and exchanging it for his crossbow, digging around behind his cape for the fireworks he kept constantly stashed there. It was easy to heave back the braided string of the crossbow, load the firework-

His ears flicked and his head rose in worry as Dream screamed in anguish. The runner had suddenly jerked in his path, the crowd rapidly fleeing as he went flying, rolling and clashing on the ground and coming to a stop in a hunched ball. He was gripping his calves, groaning in pain. The crowd surged forward towards the downed warrior but stopped as Techno unthinkingly fired his crossbow, the firework exploding right into the mass of people.

In the chaos, Techno sprinted over to Dream, kneeling down next to the whimpering man. His mask had slipped to the side of his face when he had crashed, showing his eyes screwed up tight and his lip being bitten between his teeth. “Dream, hey, speak to me buddy, you okay?”

Dream managed to shake his head with a low groan and Techno’s ears flicked upon hearing the roaring of the mob running towards them. He growled as he turned, dropping his crossbow and his shield, drawing his axe in both hands. His eyes scanned them; humans and hybrids alike, charging for the two and screaming for blood. Other voices that Techno had grown to know intimately were screaming for the same thing and with a deep, monotone laugh, the Blood God charged.

Through his pain, Dream was vaguely aware of some sort of being charging through the mob, slashing and slicing with furious, inhumane hunger. It was in Techno’s body but whatever it was was  _ not _ Techno, and the crowd fled beneath him. His clothes were splattered and stained and decorated with blood as the survivors ran from them, his tongue coming up to lick some of the blood dripping from his tusks as he turned.

The two pairs of eyes met; one green eye opened wide with the other hidden by a white ceramic mask, and a set of blood red eyes that faded to their regular brown. Techno slouched over to him, sitting down beside him with a huff.

“Sorry about that,” he apologised gruffly, cleaning his axe with the inside of his cloak.

Dream pushed himself up to sit properly, eyes never leaving Techno. “What was that?” he asked slowly.

“The Blood God.”

“I thought that was just a nickname for you, but… it’s an actual thing?”

“Yup.” Techno seemed remarkably unbothered. “I have voices in my head that demand blood and on occasion, I like to satisfy them.” The brown eyes turned to him. “Don’t worry. They haven’t forcefully taken control of my body for months.”

Dream couldn’t be sure whether Techno was making a dark joke in that monotone voice or whether he was telling the absolute truth. He was saved from having to decide or answer when Techno nodded to him. “And what’s up with your legs there?”

“Oh, I…” Dream looked down at his legs. “I ripped the muscles apart when I was a teen. I pushed myself too hard and… They never healed, so when I run too fast, they give out again.”

“Are they good enough to walk?”   


Dream got the cue and nodded, though he still had to get a hand from Techno to stand. The two held their arms in a monkey grip for a few moments, staring at the other.

“We don’t speak of this encounter to anyone else. Correct?” Techno asked.

“Correct.” Dream nodded.

It was never spoken of again.


	30. I think I need a doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Emergency Room, Reluctant Bedrest  
> Character: Skydoesminecraf
> 
> Please, Sky, PLEASE start seeing people when you are in pain. Just save us all the trouble. No, feeling nauseous and chest pains and getting hit with dizzy spells is NOT normal, go see a doctor.

The meeting was long and tedious and Sky honestly hadn’t known if he’d be able to stay awake for it all but there were only a few minutes left and he was still awake, somehow. His exhaustion meant that he was finding it a bit difficult to breathe as Jason finally wrapped up the meeting with the summary they’d all get in written form later. Quentin had made him take off his sunglasses for the meeting since they were indoors and he had no medical reason (unlike Ian) to keep them on, which meant he couldn’t hide the way his eyelids sagged.

Jason’s summary went on for a few minutes longer than Sky had expected and he was feeling a pain in his chest as the meeting finally came to a close. He blinked himself awake and stood with everyone else, the chest pain diminishing as he straightened. Despite all eight Generals gathering with the Captains and Commanders of their army to discuss important things, things weren’t exactly ‘formal’ as they exchanged a few joking insults and meaningful compliments as they gathered up their items. Some just gave a wave and left the room quickly without much talk, Sky being one of them. Usually he’d hang around for a few minutes to chat with his higher-ranking recruits but he wasn’t feeling it today. He should have known that he wouldn’t have been able to get away with it, as he heard footsteps following him soon after. 

“Hey Sky, what’s the rush?” Jerome asked as he caught up to the former, matching his pace.

Sky chuckled, shaking his head and blinking behind his sunglasses as he got a sudden dizzy spell. “No rush, I’m just running low on energy again.”

“Bad night sleep?” Jerome guessed, and rightly so as Sky nodded.

“I dunno what’s been up. I’ve hardly been able to get to sleep and I keep waking up several times in a cold sweat and all nauseous. But I don’t feel like I’m getting sick or anything. Like, you know how you get that feeling with your head getting stuffy and nose getting funny? I haven’t felt any of that.”

“Have you talked to Quentin about it?” the warrior asked. “It  _ sounds  _ like you’re getting sick, he might know what’s up.”

Sky hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean… I probably should, but I’ve been going to him so often recently and he’s got a lot on his plate anyway. I’ve been meaning to ask him after he finishes his shifts but he keeps looking so exhausted and I don’t want to bother him.

Jerome gave a patient sigh. “Sky, you know that Quentin never minds checking us out and making sure we’re okay. If anything, he’d enjoy us taking the initiative to come to him rather than the other way around.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Sky wiped his forehead, feeling sweat on it. Why was he sweating now? He was indoors and it wasn’t even a hot day. His left hand was aching too and he opened and closed it a few times to hopefully get some blood running into it.

Jerome’s eyes watched him worriedly. He couldn’t be sure but Sky’s face looked a little more pale than usual, his eyes blinking behind his sunglasses as he looked back up to where the two were walking. “Want me to come with you?” he offered suddenly. “If we go now, we’ll probably get to the hospital before Quentin does and can get him to check you over before he gets stuck into work.”

Sky nodded. “Yeah, good idea.”

They changed their direction, making a few right turns to be heading in the direction of the castle’s western doors. Jerome was frequently glancing at Sky and keeping his friend in his peripheral vision, which meant he caught the exact moment that Sky’s face scrunched up in pain and he let out a strangled gasp, stumbling into the wall.

“Sky! Hey, careful, easy,” Jerome said quickly, grabbing onto Sky’s arms and gently lowering him to the ground as Sky’s legs wobbled and he coughed several times. “What’s wrong Sky?”

Sky’s return grip on his arms was uncharacteristically weak. He was breathing in short, rapid gasps, his chest heaving, and didn’t move to stop him when Jerome took off his sunglasses and knelt next to him. His eyes were screwed up tight and the blood had definitely rushed from his face. Jerome put his hand to Sky’s chest, feeling his friend’s heartbeat fluttering erratically.

“Sky, come on, I need you to talk to me,” he urged, feeling his own panic beginning to well. Jerome wasn’t good at this medic stuff. He knew how to fight, he knew how to work in a team and give orders, and he knew that if he saw blood, someone had to see a doctor. But Sky looked to be in no condition to walk.

“Can’t breathe,” Sky gasped, eyes fluttering open and then closed, his head tilting back. “Hurts. Chest. Arms. L-Light-headed, head.”

Yup, Jerome was clueless. He had to get Sky to Quentin. He wasted no time scooping the fully grown man up and into his arms, one of his infrequent displays of his true strength. “Okay, keep breathing Sky. I’ll get you to Quentin.”

He walked quickly, breaking out into a run as soon as he was out of the castle. People stared in concern but they moved out of his way. The one benefit of Sky’s struggling breathing was that Jerome could see and feel each pained movement of his chest, which at least told him that Sky was alive. Thankfully, his breathing seemed to come a bit easier as Jerome burst into the emergency doors of the hospital, bellowing a “QUENTIN” from deep in his lungs.

Sky winced. “Thanks Jerome, now everyone knows,” he grumbled, trying to kick his legs from the fluffy’s grip. Some of the colour had come back into his face.

“Sorry Sky,” Jerome grinned sheepishly, letting Sky stand but keeping a tight grip on him as Sky’s legs shook and keeping Sky’s arm around his shoulders.

Jerome’s bellow had worked though, as Quentin came rushing into the emergency room only second later and then rushed up to the pair, his eyes instantly taking in the information that was written across the General. “Okay Sky, what’s up?” he asked in a no-nonsense tone.

Sky took a few breaths, waving his hand slightly as he worked himself up to speaking, which led to Jerome speaking for him. “He collapsed in the hallway just now, said his chest and arms hurt and he was feeling dizzy. He was finding it difficult to breathe too. He also hasn’t been sleeping properly the last few nights and has felt sick.”

Quentin quietly listened, pressing his fingers to the base of Sky’s neck as Jerome explained and then feeling Sky’s forehead. “How long has this been happening, Sky?”

“Um… A few days? A week at most,” Sky told him.

The doctor pulled back to give him a flat, highly unamused look that spoke volumes. “Carry him in, Jerome.” He led the two through the emergency doors of the hospital, ignoring Sky’s quiet grumble that he could walk perfectly fine, thanks. He couldn’t as a matter of fact, his feet were on the ground but Jerome was supporting most of his weight.

“Here,” Quentin directed, pushing open a door and walking over to the machines that ran around the bed contained in the room. Jerome deposited Sky on it and Quentin got to work, helping Sky out of his long shirt and into a shorter hospital gown. He started hooking him up to the machines. “I’ll need to take a few blood tests to double check, but I want to keep an eye on your heartbeat in the meantime. Also, you’re going to have to wear an oxygen mask.”

Sky whined but cut it off when Quentin gave him another stern look. “Sky, you were struggling to breathe less than ten minutes ago. You’re getting an oxygen mask.”

Jerome dismissed himself before Quentin could take the tests (blood made him feel all squeamish) and Sky was forced to lie in bed with a mask on his face and wait for the results. Quentin checked on him periodically, catching him panting for breath several times while the heart rate monitor beeped wildly. It increased Quentin’s suspicions about the cause of it but he didn’t say anything until he got the results. 

“Congratulations Sky, you’re having a heart attack,” he declared as he walked into Sky’s room with the paper on a clipboard, consulting it.

Sky chuckled which sounded strange through the mask. “Oh thanks, what do I win?”

“A week of bedrest and medication to fix it,” Quentin said sternly. “And if I don’t see any improvement quickly then we’re gonna have to give you surgery.”

The General whined. “Noooooo, I  _ hate _ surgery, the knock-out meds always leave me drugged for hours.”

“I know, it’s hilarious,” Quentin said with a smirk. “But if you don’t want to get it then you’d better take it  _ very _ easy over the next few days and hope that we’ve caught it early enough. It’ll be close.”

“Then give me the meds already, doc.”

“Yes Mr. Overlord General Sky Sir,” Quentin mocked, giving a flourishing bow with his clipboard and leaving again. Sky groaned, burying his head into the pillow. A week's bedrest, he was going to  _ die _ . Metaphorically. Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're a writer, you sometimes need to search up crazy things, like "signs of a concussion", "signs of a heart attack", and "how to treat a heart attack". It's okay Google, I'm fine, I promise.


	31. Now where did that come from?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wound Reveal, Ignoring an Injury  
> Character: Technoblade
> 
> Techno doesn't like people worrying over him, but by not looking after himself, he gets a *lot* more people worrying over him.

Techno knew that Ranboo would overreact the moment he saw the piglin hybrid, but it was late and it was dark and Techno didn’t have the energy to go through the effort of hiding it from him. He just had to hope that Ranboo either would leave it alone or that he’d gone to sleep early rather than waiting for Techno to come back. Or maybe that he was downstairs and Techno could sneak away upstairs and get changed before he noticed. Any would work.

Lantern light streamed through the windows, illuminating the snow-covered land that Techno trudged through, shaking the wet powder from his boots as he mounted the steps. His fluffed cloak covered his body, including his hands which were pressed against what  _ had  _ been a white shirt. He shoved open the door with his shoulder, knowing that Ranboo always left it unlocked and entered the room-

“Oh my gosh Techno are you okay?!”

Techno swore under his breath and turned away to close the door as a black and white enderman hybrid taller than himself (and he didn’t like that, Techno was a tall creature but Ranboo was several years younger than him and still stood a head above him) rushed up to him, red and green eyes creased in worry. 

“I’m fine, Ranboo,” Techno lied, turning so that the other could only see his back as he hobbled further into his house, shaking some snow from his cloaked shoulders.

“Techno, you’re limping!” Ranboo insisted, clawed feet pattering as he followed the other nervously. “And I can smell blood on you, are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” the piglin insisted again, instantly attempting to mask the limp. “Just got mobbed by some zombies, nothing big, I…” A sudden pang through his body made his voice cut off and he stumbled, quickly grabbing onto a chest with his blood-stained before he could fall, a shaking breath escaping him.

He growled in annoyance and Ranboo immediately panicked. “Techno! You’re-”

“I said I’m fine!” Techno snapped, harsh and cold. Usually, it was enough to make anyone - even Philza, even Dream - back down and leave him alone, but it no longer worked on Ranboo. Techno couldn’t see him but he could imagine Ranboo straightening a little more and his shoulders going back, his eyes flashing with strength.

“Techno, no! You want to hide this from me? Come home bleeding, falling over, limping, and your hands covered in blood and you expect me to  _ ignore _ it?” He suddenly stepped forward, his hand unclasping Techno’s cloak before Techno could shove him away or grab the garment, and it pooled at his feet. 

Now there was no hiding the bloodstained nature of his white ruffled shirt, stained over the front of the chest with rips across it, especially at his stomach. Techno’s shirt sleeves were bloody too, as was the folded collar and he turned his face away so he couldn’t see Ranboo’s expression. But he couldn’t stop his pointed, pierced ears from hearing the nearly angry tone in the ender hybrid’s voice. “Techno,  _ why _ didn’t you tell me? You’re really hurt, why did you try to hide it? Is there anything else you’re hiding from me, Techno? Is it because you think that- that I can’t help you?!”

Ah, they were at this stage. Techno had grown to be familiar with this stage and the warning tremor in Ranboo’s voice that meant he was about to have a breakdown. Though he was by no means comfortable with this situation, he had at least grown used to how to calm Ranboo back down.

“Ranboo, I wasn’t hiding it from you because I didn’t trust you,” he tried to assure the other hybrid. He stood up, ignoring how it aggravated his wounds, and turned so he could see Ranboo’s face. “I didn’t want to worry you about it because I know that you would look after me. It’s a lot worse than it looks, half of this blood is from the zombies. I’ll be fine, I’ve got bandages, I’ve got healing potions, I’ve got gapples, I can look after myself. I’m sorry for snapping at you and I’m sorry that I tried to hide it. I will be fine, I promise, and I’m not hiding anything else.” A few lies mixed with the truth was the best way to lie.

Ranboo’s eyes flicked up and away a few times in his usual way and he nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Okay. Okay. Um… Do you want me to get you some healing potions?”

“Nah, I’ve got some in my room,” Techno partially lied again. “Have you had dinner?”

“Oh! Yeah, I-I had some of your potatoes, I-I hope you don’t mind.”

He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Ranboo, like I said before, you can use anything I have, you don’t have to ask. It’s okay.”

Ranboo nodded a few times and they split up, Ranboo heading to his bedroom on the first floor and Techno heading to his room on the third, grumbling at how many stairs he had to climb in this state. Once alone, he peeled off his shirt and washed his skin, wincing. He’d clearly been cut deeply but he didn’t have any energy to do more than wrap it up and crumple into bed and fall asleep.

* * *

It had been a stealth mission at first but had quickly turned into a one-sided battle when they were spotted. The main reason why they weren’t all killed in an instant is because Dream and Ant were not only highly stealthy but were also extremely good warriors and lept into action in an instant. Between them, they were able to keep back the initial charge, giving the others time to get away and get themselves together.

Tubbo was great at sneaking around but not a fighter, and Bad was only a shade better. Tommy, who was yelling through their radios about how they could hear the alarms from the cart they’d arrived in, could barely give them warning about how much of a fight they were in for. Even with Dream and Ant taking down anyone they saw, they still wouldn’t have made it out alive if someone had not stepped up and turned the tides.

Techno may have only been one person but he gave off the aura of a man about to change the course of a war as he found them in the complex. His axe, shield, and cloak were all stained with blood and the air around him shimmered with the faint fumes of potions. He was remarkably calm when he reached them and raised his axe to point the way he had come. “This way” said his monotone.

They followed him without hesitation, letting him easily carve the bloody path ahead as Dream and Ant covered their back. Twice, they passed a gold apple core that must have been left over from Techno on his war path. With the piglin warrior leading the way, getting out and back to the cart was like child’s play. Wilbur cracked the reins the moment they had thrown themselves in and the four horses leapt forward into a gallop. Tommy nearly fell out of the front seat at the sharp movement and had to grab Wilbur’s coat sleeve to stay on, which made his brother laugh as the younger yelled curses.

“Well, that was fun,” Dream said easily, leaning back in his seat with his hood back, full face mask catching the light of the moon. “Even if it was pointless.”

“I’m sorry guys, I tripped over my own feet, it was stupid of me,” Tubbo apologised, face heating up in shame, kicking his feet. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

“It’s fine Tubbo, not your fault,” Bad assured him, Ant adding on “It’s worse when you trip on your feet and nearly stab yourself with your own sword. It was just bad luck that the alarm button was right there, we’ll try a new plan later.”

“Thanks for getting us, Techno,” Dream said. “How’d you find us so quickly?”

The piglin hybrid didn’t answer. He was slouched in his seat, head resting on the railing of the cart and jolting with each movement of the wagon. To all appearances, he was dozing away but that wasn’t like Techno. Not when there were others around. Tubbo shook his shoulder to wake him up but Techno only gave a quiet grunt, his eyes fluttering open and then shut again.

“Techno, hey, wake up lazy arse.” Dream’s voice had a smirk but the way he sat up a bit straighter and the way the black eyes of his mask watched Techno spoke of his attention.

“Techno?” Tubbo asked, shaking his shoulder again. Techno hardly responded and Tubbo frowned. His adopted brother’s cloak had folded over him when he had sat and Tubbo pulled it back and dropped it with a gasp, his eyes widening. “He’s hurt!”

Dream swore under his breath upon seeing Techno’s white shirt heavily stained with red, wet blood across his stomach. “Bad-”

“Got it.” The demon reached under the cart seats and pulled out a medic kit. Tubbo moved to let him sit next to Techno and Bad unbuttoned Techno’s shirt, moving it aside. He hissed at seeing the deep cut. “Dream, this isn’t a new thing, he got this a while ago,” he told them, taking out a few cloths and wetting them before wiping the blood away.

The sting of the cleaning made Techno hiss and arch away, his black eyes blinking. “Hey, get away from that,” he grumbled, weakly trying to bat Bad away but Ant grabbed his arm and held it back. 

“Techno, why haven’t you gotten that cut looked at?” Even with less medical experience than Bad, Ant could still tell that the wound was deep. Scarily deep. And there was a  _ lot _ of blood coming out of it.

Techno grumbled something and looked away, giving a weak whimper as Bad kept trying to clean it. Tubbo had moved to the front of the cart and was whispering to Tommy and Wilbur, both glancing back in concern at their warrior brother. 

“Ah, it’s just going to keep bleeding,” Bad said, finally giving up. “It must be infected or something, it’s not stopping. Do any of you have something kinda flat and rigid that I can put against it? If I just wrap it in a bandage then he’ll bleed right through, I gotta stem the blood flow first.”

“I’ve got nothing, sorry Bad,” Ant said, shaking his head.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea to try and break off a railing, too many splinters,” Wilbur called back, urging the horses to a yet a faster pace.

Dream hesitated. “Yeah, I got something,” he muttered with a twinge of regret after a moment. He grabbed Techno’s axe and propped it up between his knees, the blade facing him. Pulling his hood up, he reached his hands underneath it and lowered his head. There was a  _ click _ and when he pulled his hands away, his mask came off with it. In the darkness and the shadow of his hood, his face was difficult to see but he didn’t pause. With a single sharp movement, he cracked his mask in half on the axe blade, handing both fragments to Bad. “That work?”

Bad blinked, taking the cleanly broken mask. “Y-Yeah, that works.” He quickly got to work, getting Ant’s help to press one of the mask pieces to the cut, stemming the blood that was further halted as Bad wrapped bandages around and around. Techno had passed out at some point but he swallowed a health potion fine and he was breathing easily.

The trip back was quiet. Techno was unconscious with Bad watching him attentively. Dream was slouched in his seat with his hood up and an arm raised to hide his face, the sleeve over his hand. The others respected him enough to try and limit their glances to his uncovered face. Tubbo sat up the front with his two brothers, watching the night world go past and slowly fade into morning with their home city on the horizon.


	32. Today's special: Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Left for dead  
> Character: Wilbur
> 
> Wilbur didn't know where it all went wrong. He didn't know what had made him stare up at the furious eyes of his son, crossbow bolts embedded in his bleeding chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of this chapter is that I started one idea, took me over a week to try and write 600 words, gave up and scraped it all and then wrote 1200 words in one night of the current story, and then finished it off yesterday. Energy levels have been lacking, but that's okay!
> 
> Yes, the number of chapters in this book has gone up from 32 to 34, because I have more big brother Dream little brother Tubbo angst and also some family angst, because I love mixing the old gen mcyt and the new gen mcyt :3. Hopefully I'll be able to finish both in the next few days and get them out for you guys!

It had started as an idea- no, a  _ conviction _ , a  _ revolution _ to change things. To make a nation where all were equal, where no one lived under the tyranny and brutality of a single ruler who commanded with no fear and no retribution. It was a place to be safe no matter who you were or where you came from. It was a nation to stand strong against whatever attack sought to overcome it.

It was a place where the legend of a blissful life lived to the fullest could be achieved. It was a place he had called home, a place with walls to protect it that he had raised to keep his family safe. A place to protect his  _ son _ , his son for whom he had nearly solely built this place for. A place for his son to grow and live and learn in peace and safety, where he didn’t need to fear for his life like his father had when he was a child.

And as he stared into his son’s furious eyes with an empty crossbow between them, Wilbur couldn’t understand where things had gone wrong.

He’d done everything! And he’d done it _right_! He’d established his nation, had written its declaration of independence, had formed the warriors that would protect it, had erected the walls that would both mark its boundaries and protect it from the arrows of the enemies. He’d fought for it, defended it, _celebrated_ it when its place in the world had been won. He’d held an election, allowing the people to choose their leader, and he had _stepped down_ _without complaining_ when it hadn’t been him.

And he’d kept fighting for it! He’d seen the corruption slowly tearing at it from the top down. He’d watched with his heart bleeding and torn as the walls made to protect it were ripped down. He’d cried rivers and floods of heartbreak when everything he’d put in place to make it a home where dreams came true were wrenched apart and burned before him. What else was he supposed to have done? Done  _ nothing _ as the place he made to be safe was slowly turning into the same places he made it to be safe  _ from _ ? The same places that had tortured him and his father when he was young and were now poised to torture his son?

No, he could  _ never _ have been made to stand by and watch as such a thing happened. So he’d been at work day and night, pouring all of his soul and mind and emotion into his nation once again. He was exiled from it, was exiled from the place he’d nurtured and defended by the ones who were tearing it apart like a disease, and though the separation made his eyes cry blood, he’d kept fighting for it. 

He’d been through dozens and dozens and  _ dozens _ of plans and ideas, ways to try and undo the corruption, to change the ones who were damaging it, to remove them one way or another, to heal his broken nation. Finally, he saw that it was too damaged to save. That the one great mercy he could give to it was to destroy it before it turned into just another one of the controlling nations and was too far gone to save. It was to burn it to the ground - to raze the place he’d raised to be a place of peace, a place for his son’s safety, and to salt the earth that would be the foundation for a new nation.

He didn’t want people to be hurt. But those who had corrupted his country could burn and rot in eternal agony in the deepest and most fiery pits of hell for all he cared. He would happily escort them down personally, but his country needed him. It had irked him, had made hate and shame burn right down to his bones when he’d had to go to the man who had tried to bow the head of his country to him, but he’d done it. He’d done what he had to, he’d laid the bombs under his precious L’manberg that would tear everything apart and make way for a new country free from the corruption that had woven into its heart.

Yet he’d never had the strength to push that final detonating button. He’d never had the ability or the  _ desire _ to see what he still called home rip apart from the inside out. He didn’t want it to happen. He didn’t want to see his country fall.

Which was why, when he moved his eyes from his son’s face to see the five crossbow bolts embedded in his body, he couldn’t understand what had happened to make  _ this  _ happen.

He raised his head, meeting that furious, hard gaze again. “Fundy, why?” he asked, his body jerking with a cough that stained his lips red.

“You destroyed it,” his son hissed at him, his black eyes so cold and full of hate that it was hard for Wilbur to register that it was directed at him. “You destroyed my  _ home _ . You destroyed the place that I was raised- the place that  _ you made _ , Dad!”

He didn’t understand. “I-I haven’t-”

“I KNOW YOU BLEW IT UP!” Fundy screamed and it broke Wilbur’s heart to see the tears in his son’s eyes. “I KNOW IT WAS YOU! I KNOW YOU DID IT!”

“I don’t-” He was cut off by a surge of pain through his body and he coughed, doubling over and crying out as the bolts in his body shifted, slicing his internal organs. “I don’t understand what- what you mean, s-son,” he coughed, his vision blurred with tears as he looked up.

He could see Fundy’s figure walking towards him and he initially felt a surge of relief. His son was going to help him, was going to help his father. But his shoulders were pushed back so that he sat back against the stone wall again and a hand grabbed one of the bolts in the left side of his chest. The father met his son’s furious, black eyes. Eyes that held no remorse, no recognition, no love, and no guilt. Wilbur knew those eyes well. He’d stared into them many times. 

“You know exactly what I mean, Wilbur,” he growled, his voice low and calculating. “And do you know what it felt like when I saw L’manberg torn apart by your explosives?” 

His hand pushed on the bolt, twisting it and angling it up and Wilbur  _ screamed _ as he felt it tear through his organs. His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open in an unending anguished cry as the bolt was pushed up and up, further and further. Fundy watched the man’s face the entire time, his hand slowly urging the projectile deeper, heedless of the blood that was washing over his hands. When he felt Wilbur’s body begin to jerk and his cry stuttering and gasping and the river of blood flowing suddenly increasing tenfold, he stopped, letting go and taking a step back.

“That was what it felt like,” he hissed. “ _ That _ was what I felt. And I hope it’s the last thing you ever feel.”

And he walked away. He left his father bleeding and dying, with his father’s bright red blood staining his hand and arm and clothes. He was angry, he was hurt, he felt betrayed by the man who had taken him in and cared for him like his own son, and he felt no remorse as he left the place called Pogtopia. 

The world was a blur of pain and pain and pain and Wilbur only breathed because each breath was an apology. An apology for an act he’d never had the strength to do, for the choices he’d made for the country he’d loved so much, for his son, for his brothers, for his adopted father he had hardly spoken to in so long. It was an apology to his past self, to the Wilbur who was convicted with his country of peace, to the Wilbur who wouldn’t realise until too late how wrong it was all about to go.

Someone was calling his name from far away, his past self calling out to his present perhaps, or his future calling out to him. It was in a voice deeper than he imagined, with a sense of urgency he couldn’t understand. It was a shock to his system when he realised that he was swallowing something that tingled his throat and made the burning sensation in his body more potent and he coughed, the liquid staining his lips as he doubled over, crying out as the movement sent waves and waves of pain through his existence.

“Wilbur, Wilbur, slow down, calm down,” a voice with a strange accent quickly urged. Pressure put him back against the wall, a hand tilting his head and he could breathe easier. “It’s okay, just take deep breaths Wilbur, Techno will be here soon.”

The broken leader coughed, eyes cracking open enough to vaguely see the dull green and plain white stripes of a hat and the blur of cool grey behind it. “Ph-Philza,” he hacked, struggling to breathe. “Wh-Wha- Why-”

The familiar avian figure shushed him, his face serious but soft, watching his son’s face. “It’s okay, Techno will be back soon, he’s getting more potions for you.”

“Wh-What-” Wilbur didn’t understand. Philza wasn’t supposed to be here. Philza was weeks away, back at that wooden house in the forest that had been extended over the years as they’d grown up. Why was he in Pogtopia with his hands tightening strips of cloth against the deep wounds, bloody bolts on the ground beside him, his blue-grey eyes looking so serious? And if Wilbur was dead, then when had Philza died? And why did it all hurt so much?

Some of his confusion must have shown through his pain-filled face because Philza gently cupped his cheek with his hand stained with Wilbur’s blood. “It’s okay, Wil,” he promised again. “I arrived only an hour or two ago, just in time to see the explosives go off. Techno’s explained enough for me to understand what’s going on.”

That didn’t help, Wilbur still didn’t  _ understand _ . His vision cleared a little to include more than just his father and he saw his brother standing there, tall and stern and imposing and the very definition of deadly silent. Techno and Wilbur could have been twins if they weren’t polar opposites and weren’t of different races, but they were nearly the same age and had practically grown up together from birth. Even with his long pink hair pulled back into a Rapunzel-style braid, he was intimidating and Wilbur no doubt looked  _ pathetic _ .

“Here Phil, this is what I’ve got on hand,” the tall hybrid said, putting down a sack that clinked with bottles. Philza quickly shuffled through them, picking out two and helping Wilbur drink them as Techno looked around and up, his pointed and pierced ears flicking. One of the potions tingled the fallen leader’s throat again and nearly made him cough and choke at the burning that he supposed was his wounds starting to heal. The other one was sweeter like candy and made his lungs feel full of air and cleared his head, his energy beginning to flood back.

“Phil, we need to get going, people will be here soon,” Techno rumbled. “Tommy and Tubbo will think he did it and if someone’s already found him, then it’s not long before others do too.”

“Then we’ll take him somewhere safe,” Philza said, putting the empty bottles back in the sack for reuse later. “Do you know somewhere, Techno?”

The hybrid huffed through his snout. “Yeah, I know a place.”

Outside Pogtopia, perfectly camouflaged in a tree despite his neon green hoodie, a white clay mask with a black smile was turned towards the hidden entrance of the underground country. He watched in perfect silence as the secret door opened and Techno emerged, followed by the winged one, Philza, carrying the limp but breathing form of Wilbur. The former two conversed quietly and they set off in the opposite direction to L’manberg. Techno glanced over his shoulder once, eyes narrowed as he seemed to search for something hidden in the trees, but he saw nothing and continued on.

Dream smirked under his mask. Wilbur was dealt with and out of the way. The avian no doubt wanted to protect him and he seemed to have Techno following him like his obedient dog. That was good. With Wilbur and Techno gone, Tommy and Tubbo were left unprotected, and  _ oh _ , did Dream have plans.  He was going to have some  _ fun _ .


	33. I'm still here, I swear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-prompt: Hallucinations, panic attacks, comfort  
> Characters: Dream, Tubbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from day 25!

_ Tubbo wasn’t allowed to follow them as they took away Dream's unconscious and poisoned body. He was pulled up a few minutes later and manhandled in the opposite direction, his kicks and muffled screams doing nothing to stop him being taken further and further away from his big brother. _

* * *

Tubbo cried himself to sleep that night. And the next night. And the nights that followed, though he could hardly tell what was day and what was not. They seemed to feed him whenever they could be bothered to, which meant he only had his exhaustion to measure the time; a fickle measurement at best. In both waking and sleeping, he saw his brother writhing on the ground with foam on his lips, eyes dull and limbs stuttering. The constant memory was enough to keep Tubbo in a permanent state of terror and a permanent state of panic.

He had his own cell, a dusty and dirty and dim one. He had both hands cuffed with chains that ran to the wall. There was a stack of molding hay that he was probably supposed to sleep on but he stayed where he was; sitting with his back against the gritty stone, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms around them. When he was too dehydrated to cry anymore, he simply sat numbly, barely feeling his heartbeat inside his chest. People came on occasion. Sometimes to feed him. Sometimes to kick him. He had bruises, but he hardly felt them either.

When rescue came, it couldn’t have come a moment sooner. The door to Tubbo’s cell was flung open and he flinched back with a cry, burying his face into his arms at the unusually bright light. He heard dozens of feet running, voices shouting and one quite close shouting from the door “Here’s one! A young boy!”

Tubbo peeked up through his arms as quiet steps approached him and he saw the silhouette of a man kneel down nearby. “Hey, it’s okay kid,” a deep voice said softly, very unlike the rough voices of the slavers. “We’re here to get you out, you won’t be hurt by them any more. Here, give me your hands. I’ll take off the cuffs.”

The boy rubbed his nose even though he wasn’t crying and held out his wrists to the unknown man’s outstretched hands. The man drew out a strangely bent implement of some kind and as promised, both cuffs were unlocked from him and the man helped him stand on his wobbling feet. “There you go, that’s better. My name’s Peter, what’s yours?”

“T-Tubbo,” came the reply with an underused voice. “M-My big brother, Dr-Dream, he-he’s here too.”

“It’s okay, we’ll get him out,” Peter assured him. “We’re making sure we get everyone out, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you see your brother again. Until then, make sure you stay with me so that you don’t get lost.”

Peter kept a hand on his shoulder as he led the boy through the dirty tunnels that were full of people moving at a quick pace. Most of them were dressed as Peter was; studded leather chestplates, forest green shin and arm guards, and black or brown undergarments. Others were in a variety of clothes but all in the same dirty, crumbled and unwashed condition as Tubbo’s. Once, he saw one of the guards who had imprisoned them surrounded by others who had bows aimed at him.

“W-Who are you?” Tubbo asked timidly as Peter held him close.

“We’re kinda a police force,” Peter explained, taking a sharp left turn. “We’ve known about these slavers for decades and we’ve spent that whole time tracking them down, learning about their base and security so we could bring it down. We’ll take you back to our home village to make you all safe, and then we’ll get you back to your own homes.”

It sounded too good to be true, but Tubbo needed something too good to be true that  _ was _ true, so he had to hope. He looked through the open doors they passed, looking for a familiar mop of dirty blond hair and stopping suddenly when he saw it. In a room with a half-circle of these armoured people, he caught a glimpse of his brother, kneeling on the ground.

“Dream!” he yelled, ripping himself from Peter’s hold and running into the square room, squeezing through the gaps between the armoured people. He heard Peter calling out his name but he hardly registered it, happy tears brimming in his eyes as he threw himself into the arms of his brother, hugging him tightly.

He knew instantly something was wrong when Dream didn’t hug back. Tubbo, still with his arms wrapped around Dream’s neck, looked down and saw that his big brother’s wrists were still bound behind him. That didn’t make sense. The people who were freeing them were here, why hadn’t he been released? His eyes travelled up his brother’s bare back covered in old scars Tubbo knew and slash marks that had been splattered across his skin, most of them red and puffy and infected. He leaned back, releasing his hold somewhat to see that the front of Dream’s chest was the same, a patchwork of painful scores. His eyes raised, finally taking in his brother’s face. His hair was oily and dirty and shimmered with dried sweat, limp and hanging low over his eyes. His eyes, his brilliant green eyes that had always been so caring and so warm whenever he’d seen Tubbo, were dull and empty, the pupil far too small.

“...Dream?” Tubbo asked hesitantly. Dream… Dream could see him, right? Dream knew he was here, right? …  _ Right? _

“Dream?” Tubbo asked again when his big brother didn’t respond. “Dream, it… it’s me. It’s Tubbo, y-your little brother Tubbo.” Adopted little brother but it didn’t matter, they were everything to each other.

He felt a shiver run through his brother’s body and hope flared warmly in his chest, a smile growing on his face as he eagerly watched his brother’s eyes for that recognition that would flood them. He felt Dream shiver again, and the head shifted and the eyes moved to see Tubbo and… and his pupils didn’t change and he only saw fear in them and Dream suddenly shifted, the sudden movement throwing Tubbo off.

A hand grabbed Tubbo’s shoulder and pulled him back as Dream thrashed, his head thrown back in a loud, anguished scream that grated on the boy’s ears and made him whimper. Peter’s arms wrapped around him and Tubbo let himself be consumed in them, his eyes locked on his brother as tears streamed down his cheeks. Dream had thrown himself backwards on the floor, legs kicking and spasming and his head tilted back and mouth open in a constant, wailing cry. He flinched like he was being attacked, kicked like he was trying to free himself, crying out like he was experiencing the worst pain possible. Tubbo tried to rip himself out of Peter’s grip to run to him, to hug him, to try and stop this pain that his brother was feeling, but the man’s arms were strong.

“Tubbo, no,” his voice said gently. “He won’t recognise you. He’ll only hurt you without meaning to. He’s not himself.”

The words made Tubbo whimper out a cry that was a bare shadow of Dream’s screams. Peter slowly pulled him away as the other armoured men finally stepped forward. Tubbo saw hands holding Dream down, his thrashes becoming more violent as he tried to throw them off, his back arching as he screamed from cuts he didn’t have. His brother, Tubbo’s big, strong, confident and happy older brother was crying and screaming like he’d been broken, like he’d lost some huge part of himself, like he was begging for death and Tubbo couldn’t look away. Even with Dream’s screams ripping at his already shredded heart, he couldn’t turn from his brother.

A minute felt like an age and eons passed before Dream’s cries turned into a shuddering gasp, his body flinching. He shivered, not from cold but like something was eating him from the inside out, spit staining his mouth. The men rolled him onto his side as the smaller spasms subsided and he went still again, eyes open but unseeing. Tubbo’s chest was shaking from silent sobs and he extracted himself from Peter’s grip. Walking over to Dream was like the slow steps of a nightmare, each step too heavy and too light to be real. The armoured men moved aside to let him kneel beside his brother, wrapping his arms around Dream’s chest and leaning his head on his brother’s shoulder. It didn’t matter much, but Tubbo curled his body to be as close to Dream as possible, his tears dripping onto his unknowing brother’s skin and making clear tracks in the dust and dirt. He couldn’t tell which of them was shaking.

He was probably left to try and draw some form of megre comfort from being close to his brother, as the armoured men slowly filtered out of the room save for two and Peter. Close to an hour later, though Tubbo had no way of measuring his existence, Peter came back over and placed his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. 

“Tubbo? I’m sorry, but we all need to go,” he said quietly, having knelt down to be beside the boy. “Your brother will be put in a wagon with Carl and Marc here. You’ll be with me and I’ll keep you close to him if you want, okay?”

Tubbo nodded, but lifting himself up from Dream was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Peter kept his hand on the boy’s shoulder, wrapping him in a half-hug as the two other men in the room came and picked up the limp body of the older. The two followed them out, through the hallways now empty of slaves and prisoners, out a door Tubbo had never seen before, and he felt the wind for the first time in months and had to shield his eyes from the sun up above. 

There was chaos for a few minutes, people and names and words being thrown about but Tubbo knew that he was put on the back of a horse, Peter sitting behind him in the saddle, and that Dream was put in the back of a wagon, Carl and Marc still hovering over him. As they set off, Tubbo saw Dream’s body flinching, a cry coming from him as his back arched and he began thrashing again, even when the two men held him down.

Tubbo couldn’t bear to watch it happen again and he buried his face into Peter’s leather armour. “What’s happening to him?” he asked in a small, broken voice when he heard Dream’s cries fade a while later.

Peter gave a deep sigh. “He’s been drugged and with a particularly nasty drug too. It gives minor hallucinations but if it’s not redosed every half hour, the hallucinations turn severe and it gives seizures and such too, usually every hour. That’s what’s happening to him. It’s the withdrawals from the drug.”

“Can… Can we help him?” Tubbo asked with tears in his eyes, looking up at Peter and then over at his brother.

A second sigh told the answer. “The only way to help is to wait it out. Giving another dose of the drug, even a weaker one, will just increase the dependence and make the withdrawals worse. There’s no cure or medication we can give to lessen the effects either, they all seem to react badly with the drug. But- But try not to worry too much, Tubbo,” Peter added, trying to give a light-hearted tone to his voice. “We’ve seen this before and we’ll help your brother, okay? It’ll take a few days, but he’ll be back to himself soon, okay?”

Tubbo wasn’t sure  _ what _ to believe, but he nodded. He knew it had all been too good to be true. He couldn’t get freedom  _ and  _ his brother, it seemed.

The camp of these people was a village set a while away, made of wood and stone and thatch and it reminded Tubbo of home, and he missed home. Dream was taken straight to a wooden house near the edges of the village and Tubbo was taken with all the other freed prisoners to a large open-air pavilion in the centre. The sun was setting and they were given food and water, and rosters were organised for showers and clothes and blankets were handed out.

It didn’t feel real to wipe all the dust and dirt and old blood from his skin but when he did, he realised just how pale he had become, and could properly see the patchwork of purple bruises across his skin. Getting changed out of his green shirt and into a beige one felt strange too, and putting on shoes when he had had bare feet felt alien. When he emerged from the showers, clean but looking more tired than ever, Peter was waiting for him with a soft smile.

“Hey Tubbo, time for sleep?” he asked gently, holding out his hand for Tubbo to take, which he did. “We’ve got beds set up for all you guys.”

“I want to go to Dream.”

Peter hesitated. “Tubbo, he’ll still be having seizures. He’ll be having them all night-”

“I want to go to him. Just…. Just in the same house.” Tubbo couldn’t bear the thought of being more distant from his brother than he already was and already had been. He  _ desperately _ wanted a hug from his big brother, desperately wanted to feel his warmth and feel his breath and hear his voice whisper that it was all going to be okay, that big brother was here, that he was going to look after Tubbo no matter what.

The man seemed to pick up on a touch of the boy’s desperation and he gave in with a nod. He led Tubbo out to the edges of the village, to the house that Dream had been taken into. It was quiet when they arrived in the main room; very quiet and still and dark. One man, Marc, emerged from a back room to talk quietly with Peter, the discussion ending when the latter waved Tubbo over with a smile. 

“You can sleep in the back room, okay? Marc will look after you.”

The next few days were a living nightmare. During the day, Tubbo spent his time in the village and under the sun, Peter often staying with him or Marc when the former was busy. Nights were spent in his room, waking often to Dream’s muffled screams and crying himself to sleep. He’d hardly seen his brother except for tiny moments when he’d snuck to the door to the room he was being kept in, seeing his brother wrapped up in bandages, wrists tied together and lashed to the bedpost, blank eyes staring at nothing. It was those sights that haunted him more than the screams.

Late one night, a few das after their rescue, Tubbo still couldn’t get to sleep. He’d tossed and turned and rolled over more times than he could count, and trying to guess what ungodly hour of night it was from the moon was never a skill he was good at. Finally, he could bear it no more and he threw back the sheets, setting his bare feet onto the cold floorboards. He walked on his tiptoes, his fingers lightly brushing the walls to keep his balance, heading for Dream’s room. His ears were strained, waiting for the sounds that would signal the beginnings of the screams or of someone else waking up. 

All was silent save for the quiet creak of the hinges as he cracked open the door, peering inside. Dream was in his usual position; lying on the bed, no shirt with bandages covering his chest and arms, wrists tied before him with the rope secured to the bedpost, eyes open, blank, and staring at nothing. It made the pieces of Tubbo’s shattered heart break just that little bit more and he stuffed his fist into his mouth to stifle his sob. 

His bare feet padded as he crept up, hesitating at the bedside and it just made it hurt all the more. The thin mattress dipped under his weight, his head shuffling under Dream’s arms and pressing his back to his brother’s chest. He sniffed, wiping at his nose as his eyes watered. He wanted the comfort and the warmth that came from being with his big brother but this didn’t feel nice, it didn’t feel like Dream was there. Tubbo still felt as alone and as distant from his brother as he had in that cell when they were separated even though he could feel his brother’s body heat behind him.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to shuffle away, to lift himself up from the bed with tears streaming down his face, his chest screaming with how this  _ wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair _ . He was in pain when separated from his brother, and he was in pain when he was with his brother. The mattress shifted as he stood and he didn’t think anything of it until he heard the shuffle of someone moving.

“Tubbo?” came Dream’s quiet, confused murmur.

Tubbo spun around, heart pounding, holding his breath with his hands covering his mouth. He watched as Dream’s eyelids flickered, closing and opening, his face scrunching up. His head turned, blinking at the boy in the low levels of light. “Tubbo?” he breathed again, shifting like he was trying to sit up but his hands were tied.

“Dream!” Tubbo cried quietly, instantly leaping back into his arms and snuggling close to his chest. His big brother made a small noise that Tubbo couldn’t decipher, but he could feel his brother curling into him, putting his head down on top of Tubbo’s and pressing as much of his arms as he could into his brother. The touch made Tubbo feel safe. It made him feel like  _ home _ . It told him that his brother was back.

“Tubbo, what… what happened?” came Dream’s quiet murmur, tired and confused, his voice scratchy from his near-constant screams of the past few days. “Wh-Why am I…?”

“It-It’s okay Dream, we-we’re safe,” Tubbo assured him, snuggling closer. “These people came and saved us, they brought us back to their village. You… You’re okay now, you’re here with me.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t say that Dream had been having hallucinations.

He heard a strange whine come from his big brother, his chest rising and falling shallowly. “I… I remember…” Another noise came from him and Tubbo raised his head a little to see that Dream had shut his eyes tightly, his arms straining against the rope that bound them. “I remember everything hurt, and I- I couldn’t move, and- and it- everything just  _ hurt _ , an- and you were there and-and you- you saw it all and you were watching and- and- and-” 

“Dr-Dream, it’s okay, calm down!” Tubbo quickly stuttered as his brother’s breathing picked up and he tugged repeatedly on the ropes without seeming to feel how his wrists were turning red. Dream’s eyes were closed, his chest heaving with gasps as he tugged and pulled and seemingly forgetting again that Tubbo was there. The boy scrambled out of the hold and started fiddling with the knots tying Dream’s wrists. His own panic was making his fingers clumsy but he finally tugged on an end and it flung free. 

Dream immediately pulled his arms to his chest and curled up, eyes still screwed shut, gasping for breath and shuddering. Tubbo put his hands on Dream’s shoulder, trying to shake him out of it and calling his name but it was like his brother didn’t hear him. The boy could hardly feel the tears running down his cheeks as he buried his face into the skin of Dream’s neck, still calling his name quietly.

It took a while, a long time of Tubbo keeping Dream against his skin, calling his name with his arms wrapped around his brother. Slowly, though, he could feel Dream’s shuddering slow and he knew that his brother could hear him. He started talking, started whispering little things and stories about the food they had that morning and the funny bird he saw following him around and the shapes the clouds made.

“Hey Dream?” he said quietly, raising his head enough so that he could see his brother’s face. “Dream? Can you nod if you hear me?”

His brother’s eyes were still shut tight, arms still pressed to his chest but he nodded slightly at the request. He could hear him.

Tubbo didn’t really know what to do or how to calm Dream down at all, but he did his best. Dream needed something right now and whatever it was, Tubbo had to be that something. “Can you tell me my name, Dream?”

“T-T-Tubbo,” Dream whimpered quietly through still lips.

“Mhm! That’s right,” Tubbo said happily, relieved at that simple word. “I’m Tubbo. Um…” He looked around and grabbed the edge of the coarse blanket, rubbing Dream’s cheek with it. “What about this? What does this feel like?”

Dream’s expression scrunched up. “Rough. Ow.”

“Sorry.” Tubbo quickly took the corner away, smoothing it back out. “But-But yeah, rough. What about… What about what you’re lying on now? How does it feel?”

“Soft,” Dream murmured, eyebrows furrowed. “Sq-Squishy. Bed?”

“Mhm! It’s a bed! Good job Dream! What about… What about me? What colour are my eyes?” He leaned down a little to be closer to Dream’s face.

His older brother’s eyelids flickered open, his head shifting to look at the boy. “B-Blue,” he stuttered. “Blue eyes.” One of his hands numbly reached up and the rough skin that Tubbo knew so well brushed it lightly. A smile twitched the corner of Dream’s lips. “So cute.”

Tubbo giggled. He leaned forward so he could nuzzle his nose against Dream’s cheek, earning a small, soft laugh from the older and Tubbo knew he had his brother back. “I missed you, Dream.”

“I missed you too,” Dream murmured, his arms shifting and wrapped around his brother, pulling him close. “I-I’m so sorry, I-I made you worry, I-I scared you-”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Tubbo told him, burying into Dream’s side. “It was all their fault, Dream. You did everything you could to protect me, and we’re safe now. We’re safe, and we’re together.” He hugged him tightly, face pressed into the bandages. “I love you, big brother.”

The arms around him tightened. “I love you too, Tubs,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into Tubbo’s hair. “I love you  _ so _ much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more story to go, and it's already 7000 words, so I hope you're all ready for some wing angst :3


	34. What you really deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-prompt: Family angst, Losing wings  
> Characters: Sleepybois, Team Crafted
> 
> Philza doesn't say why they're going to the Sky Army, but it becomes fairly clear fairly quickly that he's been keeping secrets. And he's not the only one hiding the scars of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addional warnings are swearing, yelling, guilt-tripping, and family fun times :D
> 
> So this one-shot was the result of a headcannon discussion between a few of my friends: TheEnderWolf14, Lunawolf41, and RadioactiveArtist, with me just jumping in late to throw around ideas. The end product was a hodgepodge of angsty ideas and family betrayal that I have put together here in written story form and can be summarised as follows:
> 
> Skydoesminecraft as Philza Minecraft's son.
> 
> 8951 words, what a way to end this book.

Philza hadn’t told them why they were going to the Sky Army base. He’d simply announced one morning at breakfast that they were leaving for it in two days and that was it. He didn’t say why, he didn’t answer their multiple questions about where this announcement had come from, in fact he’d hardly even told them  _ where _ it was. He was unusually closed off and quiet about it all, unusually distant.

Wilbur and Tommy eventually gave up on bugging him and went to their older brother Techno for help. He told them that the Sky Army was having a large celebration for the 100th anniversary of its founding but that was a few weeks away still. There was no reason for them to be leaving so soon, which left him just as clueless as they were. 

When they left the house and started out on the journey, Philza had opened up a little. The Commander of the Sky Army wanted to meet them. He’d sent Philza a letter but no reason for the meeting. At their pestering requests, their father showed them the note. It was simple and brief and very formal, stamped at the bottom with the crest of the Sky Army in red wax and signed with a name:  _ ‘Sky Dahlberg, Head Senior Commander of the Sky Army.’ _

The trip took a few days and was uneventful, except for happy times as a family; travelling on the road by day and looking up at the stars by night, telling stories and eating campfire-cooked meals. The army base appeared on the horizon one day and Philza smiled less and less. The shadow of the huge wall threw itself over them and the crowds at the gate parted only slightly to let them through, the guards on either side nodding at them. Philza’s wings were pulled close to his body, the feathers tightly pressed together and his hat low over his eyes. He was nervous, that much was obvious, but what made his three boys all the more worried was that he seemed… he nearly seemed  _ sad _ . It didn’t make sense. The base was brightly coloured and full of waving banners and smiling faces, but their Dad’s feet dragged as he stepped.

“L-Look-” their father started to stutter out of nowhere. His three boys looked at him, eyes worried and attentive. “I-I-It-It was a-a while ag-ago, I- I should- I-” He took a breath as if it was meant to steady his voice. “I-I’m- I-I-”

“Dad, it’s okay,” Techno murmured, his shoulder brushing his father’s in a comforting gesture. His maroon eyes flicked over to his two brothers, seeing the fear in both of their expressions. Philza looked like he was about to start crying, twisting his hands together until they were white. Wilbur put a hand on his father’s wings and felt the feathers quacking and shivering under his palm. 

They reached a square in the street where the crowd had thinned out, leaving only the four and a handful of others walking across it. This meant that there was nothing to hide the man approaching them with long, purposeful strides. One look told them that this was Head Senior Commander Sky Dahlberg. He stood tall, with brown curling hair tied in a small ponytail, sunglasses hiding his eyes and a deep blue cape flicking at his legs. He wore black and grey fashioned like a sort of jumpsuit or assassins gear, though it was much too casual for either of those. At his left side was a golden longsword and at the right was a dagger of the same material.

His red shoes came to a stop several steps away from them and though he was the one who sent the letter to them, his expression was neutral upon meeting them. Cold, even. His lips were set and his eyes were hidden and his arms were at his side but that gave away nothing. Techno was sizing him up, judging how much of a threat he was and how good of a warrior he may have been. Wilbur nearly instantly disliked the man on account of the expression he wore. Tommy was just trying to figure out why someone wearing grey and black would have red shoes, a blue cape, and a gold and purple amulet. 

Philza’s head had come up and his eyes were locked on the man, sadness and pain mixed with joy on his face. A single tear rolled down his cheek. His voice cracked a little as he opened his mouth to speak. “Hello, son.”

The reaction of Philza’s three adopted sons was instant. Three heads flicked to him in shock, staring for several seconds and then flicking over to Sky, who hadn’t reacted at all. A tiny smile had twisted Philza’s lips as he had spoken the two words but as Sky’s expression didn’t soften in the slightest as seconds went by, the smile faded and his wings quivered more, the tear dripping from his chin.

Techno awkwardly put a hand on the avian’s shoulder to try and comfort him. Philza looked like he was only a few seconds from collapsing, his expression morphing into some horrible twist between shocked and pained and horribly,  _ horribly _ saddened, all trace of joy gone. Wilbur was furious, looking just about ready to throw hands with this armed man, his glare hard and steady. Tommy was just as angry and would probably help him drop-kick half the army if he had to.

“Welcome,” the army man said finally. His first word to them, and it was cold and flat and formal. “Come in, to the castle.” It was probably meant to be an invitation but it felt more like an order as he spun around and walked back the way he had come, clearly expecting them to follow.

“Come on, Dad,” Techno murmured, still holding onto Philza’s shoulder as he walked after the Commander. Philza numbly followed the pressure, his face drawn and pale. Wilbur was on his other side, a hand raised as if he was worried that his father was about to collapse. Tommy stomped beside Techno.

“I’m gonna murder that son of a bitch,” he growled, glaring at Sky’s flicking blue cape.

“Tommy,” Techno warned. “He runs a powerful army that has over a million recruits and we’re right in the middle of it. Attacking him would not be a wise thing to do.”

Tommy grumbled but they couldn’t say anything else as the streets grew more populated, the crowds leaving a wide path for their Commander and the four following him. Sky led them up the broad steps that graced the front of the castle and through the flung open wooden double doors. They didn’t know where he was taking them but it was only through the first antechamber and into a tall hallway that opened up into a much larger room. 

Given the amount of foot traffic, this was the main hall of the castle. Large double doors were open on each of the three walls, with the fourth taken up by two huge sweeping staircases that met in the middle and led to another open door on the second floor. Four guards stood at each doorway and at the base of the stairs, with chestplates and arm and shin grooves and a sword at their side and a spear in their hand. 

Sky waved a recruit over, murmuring a few things to him to which the recruit nodded. He turned back to the family. “Martin will lead the avian to the rooms you’ve been given,” he said formally and not impolitely, but the way he said ‘avian’ made Tommy and Wilbur bristle. “Just to help him calm down so he doesn’t pass out in front of everyone.”

Maybe it was the thought that counted but even the recruit gave his Commander a look as if confused by his impartial tone. Sky’s expression hadn’t changed in the slightest, still just as neutral and distant. Philza pulled it together enough to shake his head, his breathing picking up and his mouth opening and closing a few times. He didn’t want to leave his kids here with Sky- No, he  _ couldn’t _ leave his kids here with Sky. What would Sky  _ say _ , would he turn them against him like- like Philza- Philza needed to explain, he needed to-to try to  _ explain _ himself,  _ somehow _ .

“Dad, come on,” Techno murmured quietly, feeling Philza start quivering all over again as the avian’s face had gone even more white than before. His hand steered his father away, following Martin who nodded and walked in front of them towards one of the large doors. Techno glanced back at his two brothers with looks that may have either been telling them not to believe anything Sky said or to not start a fight.

Wilbur and Tommy looked all too happy to listen to the first one and all too ready to ignore the second. They were seconds away from tearing Sky apart limb by limb with their bare hands. No one made their father nearly cry except them, and  _ no one _ made him so ready to fall apart like that. If Sky noticed their aggression (and it was impossible to miss it), he didn’t do anything but someone else did. Three someones, actually, who approached them from the general foot traffic.

“Hey Sky,” said one of the three, flicking his deep red bangs out of his eyes so he could see the three. His hands were in his pockets, purple bracelets on each of his wrists with black and green headphones around his neck. His hazel eyes were glancing between the Commander and the two young men, sizing them up. He wore a blue cloak like Sky but the clasps on the front were slightly less embroidered.

“Hey Ty,” said the more senior Commander, turning away from the two to look at the three coming to a stop next to him. The second newcomer wore a sky blue hoodie with tiny stars patterned across it and black pants that had what looked like jet-engine fire around the hems and pockets. His eyes were a deeper blue than Tommy’s and his hair was a lighter brown than Wilbur’s. He had no cloak but the man beside him did; a long, thick purple one that brushed the floor. 

This third man wore a sort of assassin-like suit as well, made in silver and purple and red with a grey shirt beneath it. A white quartz crowd kept his hair back and his purple eyes virtually  _ screamed _ magic as he looked between Tommy and Wilbur before glancing over to Sky. “Are you going to introduce us, Sky?” he asked, waving a hand to the two.

“Right. This is Wilbur and Tommy, adopted sons of Philza Minecraft.” Sky gestured to them both in turn; the taller one with the brown, curling hair, red beanie, and long brown coat, and then the shorter one with a red and white ¾ length shirt, blond hair, and a look in his light blue eyes that said he was about to commit a murder. “These are some of my fellow Commanders; Senior Commander Tyler, and Commanders Jason and Seto.”

“I thought you said there were four of them?” Seto asked, crossing his arms.

“And how do you know our names?” Wilbur asked suspiciously.

“I just do,” Sky said, not really answering either question. He turned again, waving for them all to follow him. “We’ll go to my office.”

The three commanders gave each other hand movements as if asking what the hell this was all about as Sky walked them up the sweeping staircase and onto the second floor, taking a few turns and up another flight of stairs and to a closed door that he opened and walked inside. The walk hadn’t made either of the sons look less murderous.

“So are you going to tell us what the hell this is all about?” Tommy snapped the moment he was in the room, glaring at Sky. 

The three commanders looked both confused and concerned, standing a bit back and towards the edges of the office. None of them had been present when Philza had called Sky ‘son’ and from the looks of it, they had been told as little as the other two. Sky didn’t answer Tommy. He walked around to his desk, reaching across it to grab a pen. “Your accommodations have been prepared for you to stay for the week and meals will be delivered to your rooms if you’d rather not eat in the common hall. The castle and base are yours to explore and the Captains and Commanders will be on hand if you need anything. After the week, you’re welcome to stay for the upcoming celebrations or to go back to your home.”

“That didn’t answer my question, you know what my question was,  _ bastard _ .” Tommy was quite nearly growling, taking a step forward with hands balled into fists. Wilbur didn’t look to be ready to hold him back. “Why did Dad call you ‘son’ and why are you acting so distant and bitchy?”

With his hand hidden by his cloak, Seto flashed a small hand signal to Sky. Sky didn’t respond, which made Seto curious. Why would Sky not let Seto interfere to make the boy step down, and yet he had chosen to wear his sword  _ and  _ his dagger to meet them? And then there was this whole  _ other _ thing about Philza Minecraft calling Sky ‘son’? Sky had told them off-handedly that he’d sent a letter to an avian named Philza and his three kids inviting them to come but they’d just assumed that this Philza held some important position in a kingdom or army.

“I don’t need to answer your question, Tommy,” Sky said flatly back, and it was  _ very _ unlike him. Sky was usually so kind and smiley, even to complete strangers or near-enemies. Seeing him so cold and abrupt made alarm bells ring in the Commander’s heads.

It was the wrong thing to say. Tommy’s fists curled up tighter and he rushed forward with a shout, throwing a punch at Sky’s face. The Commander faltered and stepped back from the punch but his hands moved up, one deflecting the blow from his face while the other caught the arm, quickly locking it in his grip and twisting. His foot kicked forward, kicking out one ankle and the heel hooking around the other knee, pulling it out from under the boy. He let go of the arm, flicking it away and Tommy rolled in the air and dropped to the ground at Sky’s feet.

Instead of scrambling back up to attack, Tommy stared up at Sky with his mouth open and eyes wide. Wilbur was doing the same, conflicted between fighting Sky himself or dragging Tommy away to protect him. Both of them knew that blindly fast series of movements as well as they knew their own names. How many times had Philza used it on them when they needed to calm down? How often had he rolled his eyes and smiled and done it on them after they’d excitedly begged him to? Not even  _ Techno _ could pull off the moves so smoothly. They didn’t even know where Phil had learned it! And Sky had just….  _ Boom _ .

“Are you done?” Sky asked sharply, glaring behind his sunglasses.

“Okay, Sky, this is enough,” Ty said, stepping forward and giving Tommy the chance to back off. “What is up with all this? You’re acting all off, don’t try to deny it-”

A knock on the door startled them all and they spun around to see an aquatic hybrid with blue scales and orange fins on either side of his face and on his arms open the door. His large eyes blinked at them all and he winced. “Bad timing?”

“I mean, yeah Quentin, a little bit,” Ty admitted. “I was just in the middle of having a go at Sky, so…”

“Right, um… We need you, Seto, in the hospital. A mage has come in and it looks like magic exhaustion but Dr. Redstone is in surgery at the moment.”

Seto nodded and went to the door, following Quentin out. Sky took the chance to pick up the pen he had dropped to disarm Tommy, using the action to turn away from Ty and walk around his desk, tossing aside a document that sat on it. “That’s all. You may go.”

Tommy spluttered and Wilbur (who had a grip on his elbow) looked rather put-off. “I’m sorry,  _ that’s all _ ? You didn’t even  _ explain _ -”

“You are dismissed,” Sky said sharply. His face tilted slightly towards the two remaining commanders. “All of you.”

Ty’s chin was raised but he said nothing as he turned and walked out, flinging the door open behind him. Jason motioned for the two boys to follow and the office was emptied save for Sky. With the door closed behind them, Sky finally let out a sigh, his composure dropping completely as he flopped into his chair. The sunglasses came off and he rubbed his face, groaning. This was all a huge mistake. All one huge, bloody mistake.  _ Why _ had he invited them? Why had he carried through on his desperate, sudden impulse to know that his father was  _ proud _ of him for something? After not contacting him for  _ years _ , after… after he’d...

“And he  _ snapped _ , he literally snapped at us, like who the hell  _ does _ that!” 

It was a few hours later and Tommy was complaining, loudly. The rooms the family had been given were nicely furnished and spacious, with large windows and curtains and doorways and chairs that had clearly been designed with avian hybrids in mind. The youngest of the family was pacing up and down while Wilbur sat at the four-seater table next to the window, watching him.

Philza was sitting at the table too, wings folded behind him and eyes downcast on his pale hands tightly entwined with each other. He’d hardly spoken at all since they’d arrived and still seemed to be consumed by some sort of deep shock or sadness. His hat had been taken off and hung on the coathanger along with Techno’s cape and mask. His mood threw them all off.

“Tommy, calm down before you wear a hole through the carpet,” Techno scolded as he emerged from the second room, carrying a steaming cup on a saucer. He set it down in front of Philza who murmured a thanks. Techno sat down beside their father, watching him with his worried eyes and his scarred face. Tommy huffed and moved onto the couch, sitting and pouting with his arms crossed.

A deep sigh came from the avian who set down his cup after taking a sip of the tea inside. “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “Seeing him again just… shocked me. I should have kept myself together.”

“Who  _ is _ he, Dad?” Wilbur asked, leaning forward. He’d taken off his coat to reveal the yellow sweater underneath but the bright colour did little to make him seem less tired, his curling hair drooping into his eyes.

“He… He’s my son,” Philza said, looking down.

“You adopted him like you adopted us?” Techno asked, but Philza shook his head.

“N-No, he… He’s  _ my _ son. My blood-related son. I… His mother died in childbirth, so… it was just me raising him. Just us.”

“Then why’s he acting like a complete  _ douchebag _ ?” Tommy complained. “Why the hell did he act like he hardly knew you?”

Wilbur threw Tommy a glare to tell him to shut up but Philza had started answering in sutters. “I… It was sev-several years ago, we… We were…” His shoulders started shaking. “It- It was just another day, I-... I didn’t know…”

With a start, the three realised that Philza was  _ crying _ . He was actually sobbing with one hand pressed to his face and his steaming tea before him, his words choking into unintelligible sounds. Techno put a hand on his shoulder but he was  _ not _ emotionally equipped or experienced to deal with these things so Wilbur stepped in, swapping seats and wrapping an arm around their father’s shoulders. Philza quickly grasped back, crying into Wilbur’s shoulder as the musician murmured quietly to him.

On the couch, Tommy had his hands bawled back into fists, his jaw clenched tight. Techno looked at their father for a long moment then looked away, passing his younger brother on the way to the door and nudging his legs. “Come on Tommy, let’s go for a walk to calm you down,” he said, clipping on his skull mask and swinging his cape around his shoulders. 

Tommy grumbled but he couldn’t exactly argue with Techno. The two walked out, swiftly leaving the rooms behind them.. “A walk isn’t going to calm me down, Techno,” Tommy told him pointedly as he hurried after Techno’s quick stride.

“I lied, that’s not why we’re going on a walk. We’re going to find Head Senior Commander Sky ‘Dahlberg’ and get to the bottom of this mess.”

“Oh heck yes,” Tommy grinned, matching Techno’s pace.

The two brothers gave off the aura of being on a warpath as they strode quickly, pulling aside guards to ask a few questions until they were directed to a courtyard. As it happened, they found their target before they had even reached the place. Sky and Quentin were walking down the hallway towards them, both in conversation and not noticing them for a few crucial moments.

Techno watched them in that few seconds, seeing the relaxed nature of Sky’s shoulders and his casual gait. He saw the shift as Sky’s head rose and his shoulders tensed and went back upon seeing them, his back straightening and his chin rising. Instantly, Techno knew that this was a man who was hiding something, and not a nice something. He also noticed that Sky’s weapons of earlier that day were gone. Curious.

“Hello. We haven’t properly met,” Techno said once they were close enough to come to a stop. Luckily, Tommy was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and let Techno lead. “I’m Technoblade, Philza’s oldest adopted son.”

“I know,” Sky said flatly. “Do you all need something?”

Techno shrugged. “Nope. Just came to say hi, introduce myself. The niceties, the usual.”

Tommy looked at him like he was insane but Sky only nodded. “Well it was nice to meet you,” he said formally, stepping around them. Quentin, who had the same Senior Commander shoulder pads and cape as Sky, gave them both a confused glance and followed his friend.

Techno let them move on, let them get a few feet down the hallway before he turned and called out to them. “Commander Sky!”

Sky stopped, his shoulders turning and raising an eyebrow over his sunglasses. Techno continued. “Apparently, you’re Philza’s son. His blood son. That would make your last name Minecraft, not Dahlberg.”

The words had the desired effect. Sky turned completely to face them. Quentin had stopped too, looking between the two in confusion. He hadn’t known about this. “What does it matter what my last name is?” Sky said after a few moments of tense silence.

“Not much,” Techno shrugged, looking at his nails. “Except for the fact that you’ve lied on all of your legal documents and are technically running your army under a fake name. Usually, such things result in the collapse of an entire army and in the liar being publicly beheaded and then his head gets put on a spike as a warning to others. Not to mention that other armies usually get all offended that they’ve been lied to and they start wars.” His mask rose to stare Sky dead in the eyes. “Seems kinda like a problem to me.”

“Why are you suddenly so concerned in the legal documents of my army, Technoblade? I don’t believe they concern you.” From his tone, Sky knew that they were here for something else but Techno simply gave another innocent shrug. 

“Well it just seems a little  _ weird _ that a guy wouldn’t bother to change his first name but  _ would  _ change his last name. It’s kinda like he has no problems with his identity or who he is as a person, but he’s got a problem with his parents or  _ parent _ , and wants to cut off his connection to them or him.” He gave a third shrug. “I dunno, it’s kinda sus. It raises questions.”

“I don’t think-” Sky started, taking a step forward but Tommy interrupted him.

“Okay, I’m done with this,” the youngest snapped, his thin patience tested to its limit. He stepped forward towards the two Commanders and Techno knew it wouldn’t do any good to hold him back as he glared right into Sky’s sunglasses. “You made Philza cry, you bastard.  _ No one _ makes Philza cry, especially not  _ you _ , and I don’t care if you’re his son or some crap,  _ no one _ makes  _ Philza Minecraft  _ cry, you understand? And what the hell was with your attitude, man?! You were all mean and cold and rude, like who  _ does _ that to their dad?!”

“He did  _ what _ ?” Quentin asked, finally speaking up. He looked at Sky. “Sky, you were rude to a guest? You made them  _ cry _ ? What the hell!”   


Sky was quick to argue back. “I didn’t make him cry! I had him taken to his rooms so he  _ wouldn’t _ have a breakdown in front of everyone, I did nothing!”

Tommy scoffed. “Liar.” He turned to the doctor. “He was rude to Philza, didn’t even say hi and hardly looked at us. Then he sent Philza and Techno off and snapped at Wilbur and I and refused to answer our questions. He also decked me.”

“Sky!” Quentin exclaimed.

“Why are you believing him and not me?!” Sky protested.

“Because Seto told me about how you acted off this morning! And being  _ rude _ and refusing to answer a guest’s questions… Sky, you’ve  _ never _ done that! You’re the person who tells people off for doing those kinds of things! You’re  _ always _ welcoming. And you made Philza  _ cry _ -”

“Oh, so  _ I’m  _ not allowed to make him cry but  _ he’s  _ allowed to  _ ground me  _ for  _ life _ and I’m just supposed to accept that, huh!” Sky’s fists were balled up, his eyes hidden behind his glasses, suddenly becoming aggressive.

Quentin pulled back, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Ground Sky for life? Why would Sky be so upset about Philza grounding him? Parents did it to their kids all the time when they did something wrong, it seemed like a silly thing for Sky to be so worked up over, especially since he didn’t live with Philza anymore. “Sky, what the hell does that have to do with-”

“Just drop it, Quentin,” Sky snapped. His eyes flicked over to the two adopted sons. “And you two drop it too. I don’t want to hear another  _ goddamn question _ out of either of your mouths.”

The second Senior Commander raised his eyebrows, looking at Sky with a sternness that would make any parent proud. It seemed to have no effect on Sky however, who stared him back down with his chin held high. An uncomfortable silence followed with Sky’s order hanging in the air and unsurprisingly, it was Tommy who broke it. 

“Look, you gotta apologise to Philza, man,” Tommy told the army leader, a softer edge to his voice now. “Like, he’s really really crying, and I mean  _ really _ crying. I’ve been with him for years and I’ve  _ never _ seen him cry like this. Even his wings are all droopy, it’s really sad to look at.”

“Wait, wings?” Quentin asked. A sudden thought had started to tickle his mind, a sudden suspicion that jumped to him that might just explain a whole lot. “Philza is an avian hybrid? And you said he’s Sky’s blood parent?”

Techno nodded, answering for his adopted brother. “We don’t know what type of avian exactly. I don’t even know if Philza himself knows, but his wings are a mix of light and dark grey with white feather highlights.” He shrugged. “It’s cool.”

“Grey,” Quentin murmured to himself, deep in thought now. If his father was an avian… but Sky didn’t have wings, of that Quentin was sure. He’d treated Sky for a lot of things and he was one of the only people who had ever seen the scars that Sky bore, but those ones in  _ particular _ ...

“Hey, don’t walk off, you have to apologise!” Tommy protested as Sky was continuing down the hallway. “You were rude to Philza, what did he ever to do you-”

“Don’t assume he’s a perfect goddamn angel because he’s not,” Sky hissed, his head turned but his curling hair hid a good part of his face. “And don’t go defending him because he doesn’t deserve it.”

That made both sons rise up, matching glares in their eyes, Techno’s maroon ones even beginning to turn a deeper, brighter red. “Who the hell are you to decide that?” Techno growled, stepping forward as Sky kept walking away. “Who the hell are  _ you _ to decide that Philza isn’t worth defending when all  _ you’re _ doing is hiding under a fake name and a fake face?”

Quentin made a move to grab Techno’s arm as he marched after Sky but Tommy quickly grabbed it and hurriedly whispered to the doctor to do no such thing. Techno’s eyes were steady and his mask imposing as he marched after Sky, still talking. “You have a castle, you lead an army, you have everything in the world you could need and everything you could want, and yet after years of no contact, you call up your  _ father _ . You invite him here, to your home, and yet when he  _ arrives _ , you act like he’s a stranger.”

“Shut up,” Sky growled, so similar to Philza on the rare occasion that he was angry, but Techno would not be deterred. 

“You act cruel, you act distant, you act like you’ve never seen him before, like you have no care for what he thinks but I know you do. I know you care. You care because otherwise, you wouldn’t have invited him here. You wouldn’t have sent him a  _ personal letter _ asking him to come. So why do you act like you hate him? What did he do? What happened? Did he leave you somewhere? Abandon you? Give you a better life? Maybe he was doing what he thought was best for you, maybe you’ve wasted your life being angry at him for no goddamn reason-”

Sky suddenly spun around, tears running down his cheeks and his voice a loud, strained scream. “ _ MY FATHER IS THE REASON WHY MY WINGS WERE CUT OFF!” _ he screamed, fists balled. “ _ THEY’RE GONE BECAUSE  _ **_HE_ ** _ HAD THEM  _ **_CUT OFF_ ** _!” _

The hallway instantly went dead silent. Techno’s stiff shoulders dropped, the redness leaving his eyes as he stared through the mask at the tears running down Sky’s face. Tommy’s mouth had dropped open though he looked more confused than shocked. Quentin was catching up, eyes narrowing as he silently and rapidly connected information.

“Philza cut off your  _ wings _ ,” Techno repeated flatly. “ _ Philza _ .”

Sky pushed up his sunglasses, pressing his palm into his eye. “He just  _ stood  _ there,” he whispered with a cracking voice. “He just stood there and watched while they were cut off. They… They asked him if… if he wanted to change his mind and he just…” Sky’s voice broke again in a fresh wave of tears and he took a rattling breath. “I looked up, and he looked at me, and he just- he just shook his head and- and they cut off my wings, and… and…” 

Tommy looked like he was about to throw up. Techno was unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he said in his monotone, but it lacked a hard edge.

Sky sucked in a breath that turned into another sob and Quentin stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Sky’s shoulders. He murmured something quietly and Sky nodded, wiping his hand across his wet cheeks. Quentin nodded, looking up at the two adopted sons who were each in their own stages of shock. 

“We’ll talk to you guys later,” the doctor said, turning Sky away with the grip on his shoulders. The two got a glimpse of Sky’s eyes as he looked up and away; clouded with tears, already puffy and red, but a strange sort of sky-grey colour that they both knew to be Philza’s eyes. Then the two Commanders were walking away, deep blue capes flicking at their ankles.

Tommy turned to look up at his older brother, face aghast. “Techno-”

“We say nothing, Tommy,” Techno said back in nearly a growl.

The suggestion took Tommy back even more, staring up at the masked one. “Wha- Techno, how are we just  _ not _ supposed to say anything-”

“We say  _ nothing _ , Tommy,” Techno repeated sternly, his mask turning to look down at his brother. “We don’t tell Wilbur about this, and we don’t tell Dad. This stays between us. We don’t tell anyone.”

“Why-”

“Tommy. Promise me you won’t tell.”

Tommy sighed, crossing his arms. “Fine. I promise.”

His older brother saw his annoyance and sighed too, somewhat relenting. “If we tell Wilbur, who knows how he’ll react against Dad. We need to give Dad a chance to tell us himself, to explain his side of the story. There might be more than we realise, Tommy.”

“I don’t see how there could be much more to Philza getting Sky’s wings cut off,” Tommy muttered.

Techno huffed. “And that’s  _ exactly _ why we need to wait until Philza talks about it. But not today. It’s already late afternoon and he needs a break to get over the shock. Come on, let’s finish our walk and head back.”

Night came and neither of the brothers breathed a word about what Sky had said. Dinner was delivered to their rooms which was eaten in silence, and Philza excused himself early to sleep. Wilbur picked up pretty easily that his brothers were hiding something (Tommy had never been the best actor) but a gruff statement from Techno convinced him to leave the two with their secrets. 

It was nice to sleep in an actual bed after the days of travelling on the road, even if it was in what felt like enemy territory. Breakfast was big enough to satisfy even the raging appetite of Tommy, and Philza seemed to be back to himself again. He chuckled at a joke Wilbur said and laughed as Tommy spilt maple syrup all over his favourite shirt and had to get changed.

They took their time to eat and get ready for the day, debating where to go and what to see first. Techno wanted to go to the training grounds and the armouries, Wilbur and Tommy would rather do anything but. Philza suggested doing a large walk, passing through the training grounds and ending at the orchard they could see from their window. The boys all agreed but before they could leave, there was a knock at the door.

Wilbur went to open it but Techno held up a hand to stop him, approaching the door first. He took a moment to clip on his skull mask then opened the door enough to see who was outside. He saw Quentin first, but a moment later saw Sky behind him, hands in his pockets and looking at the ground. Behind those two were two Commanders Techno didn’t recognise, but he could instantly pick one as a warrior and the other as a sorcerer. Neither Sky nor Quentin had their capes on and the other two were likewise lacking symbols of authority and (more importantly to Techno) their weapons.

“May we come in?” Quentin asked after a few moments of Techno’s mask staring at them.

The mask tilted. “I’m sensing that there’s about to be a talk.”

“We discussed things last night as a Team, at length,” the Commander explained. “We decided that they both need to talk it out, to get the truth into the open. Whatever it may be.”

Techno pulled away from the door so he could look over his shoulder. Wilbur was watching with a frown, not sure what was taking so long. Tommy was shoving a few water bottles in a bag but paused when he heard the loud silence. Philza had his eyes on Techno, his posture shifting into something more preparatory, more defensive, as he sensed his son’s hesitation. Techno turned back to the four and gave a small nod, opening the door and letting them walk inside.

The tension in the room rose tenfold the moment that Sky stepped in. Wilbur’s hands balled into fists, Tommy abandoned his task in favour of stepping further into the main room, Philza’s wings shrunk to his body and he retreated a step. A quiet grunt from Techno stilled the two sons and the masked one stepped up to his father’s side, turning to watch the Commanders enter and one close the door.

“Okay, I know most of us have met but I’ll introduce everyone just to make it official,” Quentin said. His voice was steady and calm, non-partial but warm and soft rather than cold and distant. “I’m Senior Commander Quentin, this is Commander Seto and Commander Mitch. You all know Sky.” He gestured to his two fellow commanders, the sorcerer and then the warrior before his hand turned to gesture to the family in turn. “This is Philza Minecraft and his three sons, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy.”

None of the family made any move to respond to their names. Philza’s sky-grey eyes were constantly flicking between Quentin and Sky, who hadn’t yet looked up from the ground. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses and from his attitude, he’d probably been forced to leave them behind. His red sneakers were pressed into the floor with more force than what seemed necessary.

Quentin continued despite the heavy tension. “We’re just here to talk. We’ll ignore the Commander titles and all the formalities and stuff like that, this is purely face to face as equals. If at any point the discussion becomes too much for anyone,” and here his gaze flicked to Philza and then to Sky, “we’ll leave without complaints. But we  _ do _ need to talk.”

“About what?” Wilbur asked with narrow eyes. Techno knew where this was going. Philza was worried that he knew too.

The aquatic hybrid acknowledged Wilbur but turned his gaze to Philza. “You’re Sky’s birth father. Right?”

Philza nodded, swallowing. “Yes,” he managed to choke out, his voice unsteadier than he would have liked but still strong.

“That makes Sky an avian hybrid, not human,” Quentin reasoned, which was sound enough logic. “Avian genes are the dominant genes compared to human genes, much like piglin traits and most magical abilities.”

Wilbur was frowning in confusion, as was Mitch who raised his hand to shoulder height. “Uh… no? I mean, Qu, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not but Sky doesn’t have wings, so him being an avian is kinda impossible.”

The doctor looked to the one who was yet to raise his head. “Sky. Show them.”

Sky shook his head, murmuring a quiet “I don’t want to, Quentin.”

“I know, but you have to,” Quentin told him gently. “This isn’t something you can hide forever, Sky. If you show it here, you have control over how it happens.”

Sky’s hands fiddled with the hem off his shirt and he sighed, his shoulders dropping. He turned around, putting his back to them all as he took off his shirt, revealing his back and a quiet gasp of horror went across the room, even from Techno and Tommy who knew what they were about to see. The only ones who made no noise were Philza and Quentin, who had both seen it before.

Two huge scars ran from Sky’s shoulder blades to his lower back, one on either side of his spine. They were about the width of a hand, puffy and raised and uneven as if the skin had stretched to grow over the bones and muscles lying beneath. The scar tissue was a faded red but the skin around it was tinted a strange sort of blue-grey, the colouring only making sense if it was the growing down for feathered wings. A small multitude of other scars ran across his back but none were as large or as imposing. Even for someone who had no medical knowledge, it was pretty easy to piece together; they were the remains of Sky’s wings.

Philza’s expression was pained, regretful even but definitely saddened as his eyes raised from the scar tissue to the back of Sky’s head which was still turned away from them, his back exposed. Wilbur looked between the two, his expression slowly turning from shock to confusion to something like suspicion as he beheld their father’s expression.

“Wait, Dad- Philza, you- you knew about this?” he stammered, weakly gesturing to Sky’s exposed back.

The avian’s grey eyes flicked up to Wilbur and then away, his wings drawing around himself. It was all the answer they needed and a muted hiss went across the room. “What happened, Dad?” Tommy asked, still not ready or wanting to believe what Sky had said the day before.

“You can tell them,” Sky grumbled as Philza’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. The wingless avian had pulled on his shirt and turned to level his cold, emotionless eyes on Philza’s tearing ones. “I’m not bothered to recount it all again.”

“Sky.  _ Son _ -”

“ _ You don’t get to call me that anymore _ ,” Sky hissed venomously, shoulders tensed. “You don’t get to call me  _ anything _ after what you’ve done.”

The hurt in Philza’s eyes was blatantly obvious as was the anger and betrayal in Sky’s. They stared each other down across the room, matching eyes locked on each other until Philza had to look away. “Sky-”

“What?! No  _ apology _ ?” Sky snapped. “No ‘sorry’ for having my fucking wings cut off?! You know, you never did apologise for it,” he said with a laugh that was unsteady. “You never apologised for letting them be cut off, you never said ‘sorry’, or that you fucked up, you just kept going as if nothing had changed! As if me losing the thing that made me who I am wasn’t a big deal!”

“Sky-”

“ _ NO! _ ” Sky screamed, stepping forward. “YOU FUCKING LISTEN TO ME, PHILZA! I’M FUCKING DONE WITH YOUR SHIT! I’M FUCKING DONE! I’M NOT YOUR SON AND AS FAR AS I CARE, I NEVER WAS, YOU SELFISH BASTARD! I LEAVE AND WHAT DO YOU DO? ADOPT THREE NEW SONS AND PRETEND I NEVER EXISTED!”

“Sky that’s not true-”

“IT FUCKING IS TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT! YOU KNEW WHERE I WAS! I KEPT MY NAME, I KEPT HOW I LOOKED, YOU KNEW IT WAS ME!” He laughed, hollow and broken. “But you never sent any goddamn letters, did you, huh? You were happy that I was gone, happy to go on living your life as if I didn’t exist-”

“Sky, no!” Philza urged. “Sky, that- that’s not what happened-”

“ _ THEN TELL ME HOW IT HAPPENED! _ ” Sky screamed. His hands flung out to encompass the room. “TELL  _ THEM _ HOW IT HAPPENED! Tell  _ them _ how you  _ let the squids _ cut off  _ my goddamn wings _ ! Tell them how you never fucking apologised, tell them how you just tried to go back to living life how it used to have been as if nothing had happened to me! Tell them,  _ Philza! _ ”

Sky spat the name as if it was poison to him, as if speaking it was the worst insult he could give. The avian looked to be shocked, hurt, but it gave way to an anger that quickly rose to match Sky’s. “I acted as if nothing had changed because I wanted to  _ comfort _ you, Sky! I wanted you to still feel like you had a home, still feel that you were  _ more _ than just your wings-”

“I’m an AVIAN, Philza!” Sky yelled, his voice breaking and tears welling in his eyes. “I’m an  _ avian _ , wings are all I am! You know, maybe I should order to have  _ your _ wings cut off, then you can know what it feels like to be  _ grounded _ for goddamn _ LIFE _ !”

“Go on then, do it!” Philza snapped, eyes blazing, wings expanding a little. “At least then I can prove to you that being an avian means more than just your wings! Meeting a human who’s lost an arm doesn’t mean that they’re suddenly not human anymore!”

“ _ Wings are not an arm _ ,” Sky snarled. His hands were balled into fists, the damn breaking behind his eyes and letting tears flow down. “Believe me, I know that very goddamn well. You don’t know how much it  _ fucking hurts _ to feel the wind against my face and know that I was meant to fly in it! You don’t know how much it hurts to watch other avians soaring in the sunset and remember when I used to do that too!”

Philza stepped forward with a sharp snap of “Stop being a goddamn  _ child _ ! You’re a man, start fucking acting like it! You lost your wings but you kept your goddamn life, isn’t that good enough for you?”

“WHEN MY FATHER IS THE ONE WHO CUT OFF MY WINGS, NO!”

“I didn’t have a  _ choice _ -”

“ _ THEY ASKED YOU IF YOU WANTED TO CHANGE YOUR MIND!” _

“IT WAS YOUR WINGS OR YOUR LIFE, SKY!” Philza yelled at him. They were closer now, oblivious to the others in the room who had slowly backed off. “EITHER THEY CUT OFF YOUR WINGS OR THEY KILLED YOU IN FRONT OF ME, I COULDN’T JUST LET YOU  _ DIE- _ ”

“Well I wish you had,” Sky interrupted, his voice low yet it snapped though the space between them, the quiet volume only made the way it cracked more obvious. Tears poured down his cheeks in rivers as he stared right at his father. “I wish you had let me die right then and there because I’d prefer that to this wingless life. I’d prefer to be  _ dead _ over the pain I have to go through every day.”

They were both quiet, their chests heaving with exertion and the weight of their words. Anger still hovered on their expressions but Sky’s lips twitched into a smile.

“You’re just selfish,” he said quietly, as if it amused him. “That’s all you are. You didn’t want me killed just so you didn’t have to suffer through my death and mourn my life. You didn’t care what I felt, you didn’t care if it would shatter my heart to lose my flight. All you cared about was your own goddamn skin.”

Philza didn’t answer. Sky laughed.

“What? So I’m right then, huh?  _ God _ , you’re a fucking disgrase of a father. And what? When you failed with me, you adopted three more to try again? As if you could wipe clean your mistakes with me and start all over again? If they were captured and threatened like I was, would you bother saving their lives if the alternative meant you got off easy? Would you let them be mutilated like I was?”

“Enough,” Philza growled, his wings extending slightly and extending his shadow imposingly. 

Sky only smirked, tilting his head. “Don’t like it? You know I’m telling the goddamn truth. You’re not even denying it. You haven’t fucking changed at all since I left. Have you even mourned me? Go on, tell me how you never regretted it. Tell me how if we were to go back and do it all over again, you’d pick the exact same choice.” His eyes flicked to the two huge, feathered appendages that cast shadows on the ground. They returned to Philza and he growled. “You’re goddamn lucky I don’t have a weapon on me right now, otherwise I might just cut your wings off right here.”

“I do.” Philza reached behind his back and from a fold of his kimono hidden under his wings, he drew out a scimitar and held it out handle-first to Sky. His eyes were flat, steady, full of carefully controlled emotion. “Cut them off.”

Quentin stopped Mitch from moving forward at the same time that Techno caught the back of Wilbur’s coat and Tommy’s shirt, stopping them both in their tracks. The blade and the words hung in the air between the estranged father and son, both staring into the eyes like they were trying to call the other’s bluff. It seemed that nothing would change. It seemed that both were going to back down. But Sky’s hand raised and he took the sword from Philza, stepping to the side as Philza extended his wings behind him, giving Sky full access to the joints that connected them to his back.

“Techno, he’s not going to…?” Tommy breathed. Techno didn’t answer. All eyes were watching Sky, all tensed for the moment when that blade would rise to stop it before it came down. The Commander stood beside the avian, lifting the sword until the point rested lightly on the grey feathers that joined to the clothed back. 

“Do you know how much it hurt when they were taken from me?” he whispered, but the words were loud in the room. “Do you know how long the pain stayed for? Do you know how many mornings I woke up and expected to feel them still on my back?”

“I know you couldn’t sleep at night,” Philza murmured quietly, face turned forward and eyes on the carpet. “I know you couldn’t stand wearing a shirt for weeks because of the pain. I know that you stumbled like a newborn child without their weight to ground you. That you were colder without them and I had to wrap every blanket we had just to keep you warm. I know that you were numb for months, that there were days where you didn’t eat and the days when I had to carry you because you had no energy left in your body. I remember having to stand by and watch as my son faded and lost his smile and know that there was nothing I could do to comfort him. And the worst part of it all was that if I could do it all over again, I still would have chosen for him to lose his wings because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing my son.”

Philza raised his eyes to meet Sky’s, tears brimming in them and slowly overflowing. “But I made a choice that was never mine to make, and I still lost my son anyway. He might be living, but he’s not alive anymore and that’s all my fault.” He looked away, eyes dropping again. The sword point still rested on his feathers and he didn’t shake it away. “Losing my wings is the least I deserve for what I did that day. I deserve so much worse.”

Sky was quiet for a few moments. “And your adopted sons?”

“I adopted them to give them the life they wouldn’t have had otherwise,” Philza whispered. “I’d already killed my son, and I knew that if someone else were to find him, I’d want them to try and bring him back to the carefree, happy boy I raised. I adopted so that I could give other people’s sons the same thing; to heal them and help them feel alive again. It was a reminder for how much I’d failed my own son.”

“... Would you have been proud of me?”

Philza raised his head, a tearful smile on his face. “You’ve grown up, Sky. You’ve found your own path, found your own people and friends and a new family. You’ve fought and you’ve won, but even if you had never done all of that, I would  _ always _ be proud of you. There was never a moment when I wasn’t proud of you, Sky, even after you had left.”

Sky’s eyes locked on him like he was trying to find the lie, trying to find the thing that would prove Phil’s deception, but Philza’s eyes only held truth and love and heartbreak and guilt. The two stared at each other for a long time with matching eyes, and slowly, the point of the raised sword was lowered.

“Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me?” Sky whispered, his voice breaking along with his tears. “Why did you let me leave?”

Philza gave a deep sigh. “You’d been hurt enough.”

“All these years… you just let me  _ hate _ you…”

“It was what you needed.”

A sob choked out of Sky and Philza raised his hand slowly to lightly brush the tears from his son’s cheek. It was like the touch broke whatever walls had been separating them. Sky broke down in an instant, sobbing with a flood of tears on his face, the scimitar slipping from his weak fingers and his legs would have given out too if Philza hadn’t instantly wrapped him up in a tight hug, holding him close. Sky’s arms latched around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder and Philza leaned his head against his son’s with his eyes closed and tears leaking from his eyelids. He gently lowered them both to the ground, drawing his wings around them and his hands rubbing circles into Sky’s lower back.

Quentin nudged his two Commanders and silently nodded to Techno, who nodded back. The six left, Techno half dragging his two brothers out the door and closing it behind them, leaving the avian father and his wingless son to find their comfort in each other once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey remember that day 28 prompt where I mentioned that I may have accidentally made an entire god AU based on that one-shot and how it may or may not have been the next book I wrote?
> 
> It's gonna be released on the 10th of March.  
> Be ready.
> 
> BUT THANK YOU FOR READING THIS COLLECTION OF ONESHOTS, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED AND I MADE YOU CRY AND I'LL SEE YOU NEXT TIME, THANK YOU ALL!


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